


World Without End

by Professor_Maka



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Drama, F/M, Gen, Resonance Bang 2013, Romance, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Maka/pseuds/Professor_Maka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly two decades since the Great Plague. Meant to kill Lord Death and cripple his followers, the virus created and unleashed by Medusa wiped out not only the Shinigami, but most of the world population as well. In a world where kishin run rampant and fear and madness reign, can the surviving children of Shibusen fight their way through the darkness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> **This is my ResBang offering, a post-apocalyptic Soul Eater alternate timeline UA inspired by, but not really based on, Stephen King's The Stand. I would like to thank the artists who worked with me on this, Tribalpunk and Legion. Tribalpunk's art for this fic can be found[here](http://mlestudio.tumblr.com/image/71255765515). Legion composed two songs for this fic, the first is available [here](http://megamadoka.tumblr.com/post/71218704955/part-1-of-my-resbang-stuff-i-wrote-this-neurofunk) and the second [here.](http://megamadoka.tumblr.com/post/71218706664/the-second-of-my-pieces-for-resbang-this-is-a) I highly suggest you check them out--both the art and music are fantastic and as much a part of this creation as the story itself; they help to illuminate the narrative and set the mood. I would also like to thank my Beta, Heysaxylady, whose patience, effort, and just darned good advice helped to shape this fic and make it that much better.**

The girl noticed him long before it happened; so few newcomers traveled through their town that she always realized when they were there. She noticed, and she saw what he was right away and she hoped, no she prayed, prayed to the long lost Shinigami, that they would move through quickly and be gone because if they didn't, if he were somehow discovered, it would be his end. She could see how much he'd been through, could read it in his strange, gentle, twisted soul as clearly as she read the book in her hands. They'd all been through it, every one of them, but the ones like him, those cursed with weapon blood, they always faced more.

They were just passing through. Twilight was upon them and their world stood half in shadow, the strange colors of the strange sun not quite set and the moon only just rising, bathing them in surreal blue. She could feel the nervousness in their souls, the eagerness to be gone as she stalked them from the shadows. They would leave soon, she willed them to leave soon, and it would be better for them that way. Only, they hadn't left soon enough.

Gopher and his lackeys were tailing them. She could sense the strange winged soul of the one and the petty little souls of his gang, could feel their ill intent. They liked to pick on travelers, to shake them down, to keep what they found of value and to bring any curiosities to Noah, who suffered their existence because he took pride in his collection of things from the old world and needed them to build it. Noah also needed them to keep his position; no one in town dared challenge his word because if they did, the gang would silence them. The girl hated it, hated them, but said nothing, did nothing, did not even reveal to others that Gopher was different, because she couldn't. She had nowhere else to go, and if they discovered what she was, what she could do, she would be dead or banished, which was as close to dead as made no difference. The girl and her father had only been able to remain here by drawing no eyes and no questions, and now she didn't even have him. She was alone in the world, alone and friendless. No, she had not been willing to rock the boat. So she'd watched as they hurt people, each time she'd watched as they hunted victim after victim, and she knew it was wrong and she felt the disgust, with them, with herself.

The girl consoled herself, always consoled herself, that they only took people's things, that they always left the travelers alive, if bruised and bloodied. Only, this time was different, and she wasn't sure she could just watch. She knew that intervening would probably mean her death. And yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Without her father, what did she have left to live for anyway?

The two boys, men really, were cornered. Seeing or perhaps sensing the gang behind them had left them feeling harried, and they made a wrong turn into a dead end alley, trapped. She followed in the shadows, fearing the worst, and now here it was happening before her eyes. As they cornered the boys, threatened them, she knew what the younger one would do before he did it and almost screamed out for him to stop. He wouldn't stop, and she was too late, far too late.

The blinding blue flash could not surprise her as it surprised them. Only an instant later, the younger boy stepped in front of his companion, his arm now a blade that glinted in the half light.

"Weapon!" Gopher screeched. "Kill him, kill them both!" There was the snick of blades being pulled from holsters, the quiet whoosh of a thrown knife and a screamed "Nooo!" as the older boy knocked the younger aside. There was a thunk and the girl saw the hilt protruding from the center of the older boy's chest, then a gurgle. She heard another cry.

"Wes!" Screamed the younger boy, who fell to his knees as he lost his tenacious hold on his scythe form and huddled over the older one in despair. She saw the group closing in, knives glinting with the light of the rising moon, its vicious, bloody grin the personification of their bloodlust. There was no time to decide; she had taken action before she even knew what she was doing, rushing past the gang from her place hidden just behind them and over to Gopher, who was about to order the final kill. She landed a solid blow with the spine of the book in her hand. The gang leader fell to the ground with a thud as the girl backed up, standing in front of the strangers, waving the book menacingly. It felt paltry in the face so many blades, but it was all she had.

"What the hell?" The exclamation behind her was a mix of surprise, anger, and anguish. He couldn't have expected her to appear out of the rising gloom like an avenging angel; she hadn't expected it either. But here she was, standing guard over this weapon and his companion. The gang had been stunned by her actions, trying to figure out what was happening, but they were regrouping. It wouldn't be long now and her book was no match for half a dozen blades no matter how skilled she might be in a fight. Wait… weapon… maybe…

"You, weapon. Can you transform?"

"I..I don't—" she could feel the hesitation in his soul and cut him off before the doubt could fester.

"Try, damnit, or we're going to die." She rarely cursed, but the fear and stress were overwhelming. What was she doing? Even if this boy could transform, the likelihood she could wield him was low. She had come rushing out like some sort of would-be hero, but all she was going to accomplish was to die alongside them.

She was surprised by a sudden flash of blue and the feeling of warm metal in her hand. This was… she took a quick glance along his length, up then down. She was holding a Scythe. A  _Scythe_  of all things, red and black and beautiful. And it wasn't too heavy or too hot like she'd read could happen. She could wield him. She would wield him. She was a Scythe Meister, after all.

The girl spun him around, a grin working its way onto her face, the elation of hope, real hope, cutting through her stress and fear.

"Shit, she's a meister. Maka's a fucking  _meister_." The group was backing up. There were six of them, but they only had knives; they were no match for a meister with a weapon, and they knew it. They turned and ran out of the ally almost as one, crying out for reinforcements as they went and leaving the prone, unconscious Gopher behind.

Maka and the two strangers behind her would have to run. They were going to die if they didn't run. But how would they carry the other boy? That wound…Maka looked back. Quickly, whatever was to be done must be done quickly. She saw the blue soul floating over his prone body and felt a guilty mix of relief and despair. He was already dead; there would be no helping him now. She spotted a fire escape to her right and began to move towards it, still gripping the weapon.

"No, wait, my brother!" she heard the metallic voice echo through the alley. She could feel the distress of his soul and wished, wished with all that she was, that she could give him time, but there was none.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but he's dead. Look—that's his soul—he's gone. We have to run. There will be more and we can't—"

"No, you're wrong," the metallic voice railed. Blue flashed and the weapon was gone, replaced by the boy, moving to huddle over his prone brother. She should run. They didn't have time. With or without him she should run, but she couldn't; this would be for nothing if she did. The boy was staring at the blue soul hovering over his brother's body in awe. Maka noted, almost absently amidst the mounting fear that they would be trapped and die in spite of this narrow reprieve, that his eyes looked oddly red in the half-light, and that his hair was strange and stark. It looked white and wild, though she was sure both must be a trick of the light. He was looking at her now, his eyes confused.

"This is… his soul?"

"Yes," her response was quiet. "It will dissipate soon, with no Shinigami to guide the path. We can't do anything for him now, and if we don't leave, if we don't run, his sacrifice will have been in vain."

He looked like he wanted to argue, to fight, but whatever he was going to say, he choked down into a large swallow and nodded.

"Can you transform?" It would be faster, easier, for her to carry him that way, and it would give them a means to fend off pursuers. He began to shake his head,

"I don't—" She cut him short again.

"You need to try." And he did. He stood up and a look of concentration appeared on his face. They heard the shouts getting louder. The gang would return soon, a lot more of them; they were running out of time. Blue flashed and she saw his arm was transformed again. That wasn't good enough. The meister moved closer to him, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. She didn't know him but they both needed him to do this, even as she knew he was hurt and angry and grieving and wished she could do more, give him time, avenge his brother, something, anything. Somehow, that simple gesture was enough. Blue flashed and she was holding the Scythe once more. She heard the crowd shouting at the mouth of the alley and, with one last look at the body they would leave behind, she took a running leap to the fire escape, climbing quickly and quietly. She would take to the rooftops, use the years of training her father had instilled in her, and hope that it saved their lives.

By some odd mix of skill and minor miracle, they managed. Maka had been spending time on the rooftops since she was a child; she knew them well. She let the crowd see her moving towards the edge of town, let them chase her along the ground, before taking to the shadows and moving the other way, back towards the center of the city, then finally, cutting to the edge of town in a different direction. Had they been brave enough to follow a meister and weapon along the rooftops, they might have tracked and caught her, but none had been that brave and she'd leapt from the final rooftop to the top of the barricade and then down. They were free; none would chase them here, even if they had seen them go.

Maka felt the exhilaration of her actions, the sheer physical exertion of what she was doing. The problem was, freedom brought further danger. The barricade surrounded only part of the old city, and Maka took to the rooftops again, knowing the streets below could hide enemies. It was unlikely here, this close to the walls of the city, but then, some of the most brazen would lurk here because it was close, because they craved the presence of one, like Maka, who strayed just that bit too far. Yes, the rooftops would be safest; bathed in moonlight, they were like a road to some distant, unknown salvation. Maka knew that such salvation was unlikely outside the safety of the barricade, but she allowed herself to hope. If this boy and his brother had managed, surely they could do so together. That thought snuck up on her like an unexpected slap to the face and she suddenly froze. Together. The magnitude of what she had done, of what she was doing, hit her hard. She was responsible for him now, had laid that claim when she'd intervened. She knew nothing about him but that he was a weapon, but now, they were stuck together as surely as if they had been that way all along. They would never survive the outside otherwise. Sobered completely by that reality, that knowledge, she was startled again by the metallic voice at her ear.

"Something wrong? You see something?" He had managed to gather himself enough to keep a level tone and she was impressed. His brother had just died before his eyes; whatever else he lacked, the boy had a strong will. That would serve them both well.

"No, nothing," Maka replied and began moving again, but the exhilaration was gone as she continued leaping from rooftop to rooftop toward their new life.

* * *

After they left the Ark, she kept going, choosing a path and simply running. There were kishin here in the thick forests just past the outskirts of the old city, oh yes, and Maka had to stay sharp to avoid them. Her Soul Perception gave them a chance, but they could still be overwhelmed and she would eventually have to sleep. The world outside the the settlement was dangerous. She had been here, just beyond the walls of the city, countless times, but always with her father, always wielding him. Now she was alone. No, that wasn't quite true. Now, instead of being cared for, she was responsible for another. It was strange, but somehow not unwelcome. It gave her a task, a purpose, for the first time since she could remember, and that was somehow almost  _nice_ —if entirely frightening.

She'd been startled by his words a few minutes later as he spoke again:

"Wait." He did not transform, but the eye on the top side of his Scythe form looked down at her in quiet expectation.

"What? Why?"

"We… I have a bike, and supplies. We should take it." Maka nodded. Yes, that would help.

"Where?"

"Along this road, but you'll need to veer to the right soon."

She nodded again in response and then sighed. "Thanks… uh… hey, do you have a name?" And then he'd told her. He didn't give a last name and she didn't ask; it was enough to have something to call him.

"Soul," she repeated. It sounded strange on her tongue and she wondered if it was a name he had been given or had given himself. "I'm Maka." She didn't wait for a reply; pleasantries, like so much of the old world, were relics of the past.

As she followed his directions and found the bike hidden in a bush, she was impressed again. While the thing was garrish, massive and orange, it was also small enough to get around the many obstacles in the road, and it would use less gasoline than a car, a precious commodity these days. They had taken a convoluted path to the city and the bike was hidden in the opposite direction of their approach. No wonder this boy and his brother had managed to survive so long; they were careful. But careful could only get you so far, and their luck and care had not been enough when they'd come to the Ark.

Yes, that was what they called the city she had lived in since she could remember. It must have had another name, once, but it was long since the Ark—the center of Noah's collection. He collected his people inside, collected his things, and kept them all safe. Only, not anymore, not her. Now she was the enemy.

Soul took his human form and they mounted the obscenely orange bike, him in front, her behind; since she had never ridden such a thing, he drove. She cringed at how loud it was and at his initial clumsiness with it. While he did not explain, she could guess that his brother had done the driving. The motorcycle made up for its noise and its garishness with sheer speed and efficiency, however, and together, they rode far and fast, driving until her limbs ached and her head swam. They needed distance, between them and that place, between her and her old life. But as dawn approached, she knew that they would need to find shelter and rest. They could not run forever. There were houses here, along this road, scattered but evident. Old dwellings that were, like everything else, the remains of a long dead world, tangible ghosts of a forgotten past.

Maka made a quiet suggestion that they stop and Soul grunted his response and turned towards one that looked relatively upright and untouched. They dismounted and Soul wheeled the bike behind a large bush in front of the house while Maka tried the door. That it was locked was probably a good sign, but it meant they would need to find another way in. She had begun to move away when she felt a hand on her arm, stopping her. The weapon boy was done with the bike and had mounted the steps of the porch to stand beside her. With his worn black leather jacket over t-shirt and jeans, the bike suited him. By the light of the new day, she could see that her first impressions last night had not been a trick of the light; the boy had eyes as red as blood and hair as white as newly fallen snow, held partially away from his eyes by a thick black headband. Her father had told her, once, that weapons and meisters were sometimes marked by odd features, like his flaming hair, and seeing this new weapon, she decided it was probably true. She shot him a questioning look and he half shrugged.

"I can open it." It was the first actual words he had spoken since they'd found the bike. She nodded in response and watched as he turned one finger into a small blade and worked the lock. It took several minutes, but eventually, she heard the click and the door swung inward, creaking on rusty hinges. They entered together and took a few minutes to explore the place. There was dust everywhere, and cobwebs. As they entered, they saw insects and other larger and furrier things skitter away; they were not the first to seek shelter here. Other than the smaller life forms and the evidence of their residence, the place appeared untouched. The downstairs was the worst of it, with copious dead rodent carcasses and long decaying insects strewn about, but the upstairs was relatively clear. Apparently, not many of the new residents bothered to venture upstairs. Maka gave a silent thanks for that as she went into several rooms with shut doors and found dusty but otherwise unmolested furniture, including beds.

While usable beds were a welcome presence, the kitchen and basement proved the most helpful. The basement had a small, untouched cache of emergency supplies and the kitchen a pantry full of canned food. Luck had brought them somewhere they could rest and resupply. Yes, this house would serve them well. After barricading the lower entrances, they gathered some of the cans and the supplies and chose a room upstairs, one with two twin beds. It had been a place for children to sleep, once, long ago. Now, those children were either grown, or more likely, long dead, and it would serve as their refuge for the night. They barricaded this door as well, covered the beds with (relatively) fresh, if a bit musty, linens they found in a hall closet, and each settled onto a bed, equipped with two decade old cans of SpaghettiOs that were edible, if not exactly tasty.

Maka ate from her can thoughtfully; neither had bothered with bowls, though they did use spoons they had found in a kitchen drawer, cleaned vigorously using water from the emergency supplies. They were facing each other on their respective beds, the light of the new day streaming in from the window of the east facing bedroom. He couldn't be much older than her, she guessed. She had turned 18 a few months back and she guessed he was within a year of her, at most. He ate with quiet gusto, wolfing down his first can of old, processed mush and then, opening and inhaling another as if it were his last meal. It was both fascinating and disgusting and Maka couldn't help but to stare. Who was this boy, this weapon, who she had unwittingly tied herself to? She hoped they lived long enough for her to find out. They should sleep soon, but she figured they should probably work a few things out first.

"So, Soul?" He looked up at the sound of her voice and she realized, as he leveled that piercing red gaze at her, that underneath the vigor with which he consumed his sub-par meal was an exhausted boy, spent physically, mentally, and emotionally. Whatever exhaustion she might feel herself, deep in her bones, this boy felt soul deep; his brother was gone and she could read in his soul how much it hurt him. She felt badly for forcing this conversation, but they needed to have a plan if they were to have any chance to make it outside the Ark.

"I was thinking—uh—this would be a good place to stay for awhile, maybe until the food runs out. It's remote, defensible, and well stocked. It would give us a chance to train." The boy had resumed eating as she spoke, but stopped again, spoon halfway to his gaping mouth, as she finished.

"Train?" He sounded confused, almost incredulous.

"Yes, train. As weapon and meister, I mean. We're obviously compatible, and if we're going to survive in the wild, we need to be able to defend ourselves. I've—um—well, I've used a Scythe before, so I know how to wield one, but we've never fought together, so I thought—" He still looked a little stunned as he interrupted.

"So, you want to  _wield_  me? You're really a—a meister?"

"Of course, otherwise I couldn't have held you in the first place," she tried to be patient, knowing all he'd just been through, but couldn't help letting a small huff escape. "Unless it's a Deathscythe with a very flexible soul, only a meister can wield a weapon." She had taken it for granted that everyone knew such basics, but then reminded herself that most people didn't have the advantage of having been raised by a true Deathscythe, that most surviving weapons and meisters were alone and either hunted or in hiding.

"I don't…" he seemed to want to say something but didn't know how, exactly. He looked down into his second can of SpaghettiOs contemplatively for a moment, then back up. "I don't know if it will work. I've only ever been able to take full Scythe form a few times, and since Wes couldn't wield me, I didn't try past that. The few times I did it, it took a long time, and even then, there were a lot of other times I tried and failed. I don't know how I was able to do it with you, and I don't know if I can keep doing it. Maybe you should—"

"That's why we'll train!" she cut him off, her voice unnaturally bright even to her own ears. Training would be good for both of them; it would focus them, let them get to know one another, leave them more able to defend themselves. A weapon and meister with no place to be would be in dire need of defending themselves. "You can practice taking your weapon form, and then I'll practice wielding you. Oh! And then, maybe we can practice resonating! I was never able to resonate well with Papa because of our natural bond, but maybe we can do better—that would be great!" She realized she was getting carried away but couldn't quite help it, excited by having a weapon again, one that wasn't her father and who she could train and mold the way the old meisters used to before she was born. "Maybe we could even make you a Deathscythe! That would be great, wouldn't it?" She noticed, as she looked at him, that he was frowning deeply, his head slightly down, his white hair, covering his eyes, was almost blinding in the sunlight.

"I don't want to be a fucking Deathscythe," his voice was quiet. "And I don't want a meister." He almost spat the word. "It was the Deathscythes and the meisters who did this, who made the world into the shithole it is. I don't want any part of that. Look, I appreciate you saving me," he looked up slightly, his red eyes just visible beneath the blinding white, "but maybe it's better we go our separate ways, okay?" Maka just shook her head. She could feel the anger welling up, the bitterness.

"You're wrong," she managed to get out through clenched teeth. When she saw she had his attention, she took a deep, calming breath and continued.

"You believe the lies, but you're a weapon. You should know better."

"Like you do?" She nodded and he shook his head.

"People like us are hunted, fucking  _hunted_ , over what they did at the DWMA. They killed off practically everyone, ruined the whole damned world, and you expect me to believe that's all a lie, that I've been hiding my whole life because of some mass delusion? Bullshit."

Maka just shrugged. "My Papa was a Deathscythe," she said quietly. "He was there. The one who really unleashed the virus spread the lie that it was the DWMA, but why would they unleash something that killed their own leader? Why would Shibusen let loose a virus that would kill their Shinigami?" Soul shook his head, but didn't answer, refusing to meet her gaze.

"They wouldn't. It makes no sense because they didn't do it. It was a witch, the same witch who spread the rumors. A witch named Medusa. My father knew the truth and he told me—he told me, and I believe him. What did the DWMA have to gain? They were devastated. But Medusa? She's close to Asura, her and her sister both; if I've heard the rumors, then you must have, too."

"Even if it's true, why the hell should I agree to be your weapon? I've survived this long without a meister. I don't need you." His voice was low and angry. Maka felt her heart breaking for him as she saw the confusion in his soul, the overwhelming grief and fear. He was alone now, for the first time, and he didn't know what to do, how to go on.

"You don't have to," she acknowledged, her voice soft and even as she stirred her long forgotten can of mush. "We could go our separate ways, and most likely, we will both die. Or we can stick together and have a chance. I can't make you do that, but I hope you will choose to stay." He just shook his head again.

"We're screwed either way and you know it. A weapon and meister together may as well have a target painted on their foreheads." She shook her own head in response.

"Most people can't tell unless we screw up; you can't have survived so long without realizing that. Maybe we can find a new place, a safe place, better than the Ark. Look, it can't hurt to give this a chance, right? I mean, there are only a few weeks of food here. Could it hurt to train together until it runs out? I could teach you things, about being a weapon, about the old world. And if, in the end, you want to go our separate ways, then okay, we do that. But why not give it a chance? At worst, you will end in the same place you began, right?"

He let out a breath, plunking down his empty can on the table beside the bed, then looking into her eyes.

"Yeah, alright. I guess it can't hurt. Just until we eat through what we can't carry, though. Then, you're on your own."

"Then, we're on our own," she agreed. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but it was a start. In a few weeks, as he processed it all, his brother's death, the lies he'd been fed, maybe he would change his mind.

In the end, that was all she could hope for.


	2. Soul Bonding

Soul didn't know what he was doing anymore. It's not that he had ever known, not exactly, but then, he had never really had to; Wes had always taken charge and Soul had let him. His brother was the only person he had ever really known, ever really wanted to know. The rest of the world could fuck off since it was a shithole anyway. Especially now that Wes was gone—he had to stifle the pain that threatened to double him over at the mere thought—dead, killed because they had chosen the wrong town. Now Soul was alone. Only, he wasn't, because here was this strange, pigtailed girl, this would-be meister, who kept talking his ear off and demanding his attention.

They'd been here for a week, "training" as she called it. Soul called it slow torture. Maka insisted on pushing herself to the limit and demanded the same of him. She had begun their training by having him transform into a full Scythe, over and over and over again. It was difficult, as it had always been difficult. He had to concentrate, to think about his flesh melting into steel as the meister had insisted her Papa once explained the process to her, and even then, it didn't always work. But the more he did it, the more she forced him and coaxed him and coerced him and sometimes almost begged him to do it, the easier it became. After hours and days of this, the Scythe had finally gotten to the point where the transformation was instantaneous, if not easy. He had made progress, he had to give that much to her. All of her incessant bitching and prodding had its uses, he supposed.

Of course, Soul could have practiced and figured things out on his own if he'd tried. He was cool, not some lame idiot. There just hadn't been any point with no one to wield him. Now he had  _her_ , at least for the time being. He still didn't know how he felt about that. Sometimes, when she smacked him on the head with her book—the same one she'd brained that guy in the alley with, he was pretty sure—Soul despised her. Maka was violent and bossy and he couldn't wait for the food to be depleted enough that he could leave with a clear conscience. But other times, when she encouraged him, or smiled at him, or when she was flipping and spinning as she wielded him, arcing him around with speed and precision that he found nothing short of amazing, he thought that maybe this could work, that without his brother it would be better with her than completely and totally alone. Then again, maybe that was the vertigo talking.

For as much as he had been born a weapon and had discovered what he was years ago, he had never had a meister, which meant he had never been  _wielded_  before. In truth, Soul knew very little about being a weapon, a deficit Maka was quickly rectifying. The worst part was that all that spinning and moving around was impossibly disorienting. To say it made him dizzy was a vast fucking understatement. When he was a weapon, he was still  _him_ , and being spun around like that, being entirely in the hands of someone else and at the complete mercy of her whims, well that took some getting used to, to say the least. So part of what he was learning was how to keep both his head and his lunch intact during and after Maka wielding him. He was getting better at that, too, which was good because getting motion sick as a weapon was seriously uncool. On the first day they'd trained, he had barfed twice, but at this point, he only got a little dizzy, and even then, it was only some of the time. He had to admit, as much of a drag as it was, the ridiculously long hours of training did have a pay off, and when they came out of this, when he left, he'd be better for it.

If he left. The Scythe wasn't sure what he wanted to do at this point. And while he'd never admit this to her, not if threatened with the thickest book she could find nor the very flames of hell itself, Soul enjoyed what Maka was teaching him. When they took breaks from training, she would talk about the things her father had taught her and about the things she'd read in the cache of books they collected. Things about weapons and meisters, about the old DWMA and the long dead Shinigami. About kishin eggs and witches and Asura himself. She told him so many things that contradicted everything he had ever heard before that the Scythe found himself unsure of what to believe. Yet, he was drawn to her words even as he feigned boredom. Soul was like a child compared to the meister, compared to what she knew of the world of Shibusen, and it pissed him off to feel so ignorant.

Yet, there were things Maka did not know of the old world, things that Soul knew that most their age would not. He had discovered her lack of knowledge when he referenced  _The Princess Bride_ —shooting her an expectant "as you wish" when she commanded he transform—only to get a blank stare from her in return. He'd tested it from there and he was pretty sure Maka had never seen a movie, though he hadn't asked, hadn't even informed her of her own ignorance . He sometimes forgot how few young people knew the things he knew of the old world, how other people his age had not had access to the things that had been at the center of his daily existence since birth; most could not have been so lucky as Soul and his brother were for much of his life, and it was only in the last few years that he had come to know the madness that their world had become. Before then, all he had known of the world outside their small cabin in the Maine wilderness he had learned through the movies their father left them, his last, greatest legacy. Someday, maybe Soul would share what he knew with Maka. Hell, maybe he could even show her. Maybe.

For now, she was talking again, trying to explain to him something she called "Soul Resonance." It sounded odd to him; he'd never even seen a soul before she had pointed out his brother's, that odd blue orb that seemed too faint and pale to belong to a man like Wes. Soul wasn't sure he would have believed such things existed if she had tried to tell him a few weeks ago. Now, though, he knew—but the idea of bonding souls with another person, no, with  _her_ , seemed strange and invasive. He really didn't want to try, but she was insistent.

"I was never able to do it well with Papa," she explained. "I could wield him because he was my father, so we were naturally compatible—"

"Then why couldn't Wes wield me?" he interrupted. He hadn't exactly meant to speak it aloud, but it was too late to take it back, and anyway, he was curious.

"Because," she was using her superior tone, the one that suggested she was patiently explaining that the sky was blue to an utter simpleton. It infuriated him and he clenched his fist to keep from snapping at her. "He wasn't a meister and you aren't a Deathscythe." Maka kept looking at Soul, as if daring him to question her further. When he just shrugged, she continued where she had left off.

"As I was saying, I could wield my father, but we couldn't build any kind of strong resonance because our compatibility was built solely around our kinship. But it's different with you, because we're naturally compatible—it's why I was able to wield you the first time we tried—but we're also pretty different, so we should be able to build a real resonance. Theoretically, anyway."

"Theoretically?" He knew his voice was thick with skepticism.

"Well, we won't know until we try, right?" Her smile was bright and it was hard to stay pissed under the force of her enthusiasm.

"I guess," he replied with a small shrug.

"Alright, then!" Maka said happily, getting up and dusting off her skirt. By a ridiculous stroke of fortune, she had discovered a cache of clothes upstairs that fit. Most of them Soul recognized as school uniforms. Maka seemed to like them and had gladly replaced her worn jeans and sweater with this newclaimed wardrobe. Today, she was wearing a plaid skirt and simple white shirt from among the things she had found. She looked down at him expectantly.

"What, now?"

"Of course!"

"But we just finished training—I'm still tired!" Soul knew he sounded whiny and couldn't make himself care. They'd been at this non-stop for a week and he really was tired.

"We just finished resting," she reminded him. "Come on! The sooner we try, the sooner we can eat dinner. I found puuuudddiiing~!" Maka sang out. She had discovered he had a sweet tooth and had already begun to exploit that weakness. The girl was devious, that was certain.

"Whatever," he shrugged as if it didn't matter, and pulled himself up from the grass with a light grunt. "Let's do this, then."

She held out her hand, as had become her habit, indicating she wanted him to transform, and he did. Maka was holding him again, and as it always did, it felt both strange and right. Soul couldn't parse the difference and wasn't sure he wanted to. While this was the point when she would usually start spinning him around and he would have to keep reminding himself that he was a weapon and that it was normal to keep his head from spinning, this time she just stood there.

"So, what now?" His impatience was evident, but he'd be damned if he was just going to stand here when he could be eating that promised pudding or taking a nap.

"Now, we focus," she snapped. Soul hadn't noticed before, but her eyes were closed in seeming concentration. "And try to reach each other's souls."

How the hell was he supposed to do that? Maka claimed she could see souls, sense them more like. According to her, they were safe here since she hadn't sensed anyone near the entire time they'd been at the house. He didn't know if she could really see souls like she claimed, but he did know that this place was as good as any, remote and stocked with food as it was, so he didn't bother trying to gainsay her. Now, though, the Scythe was being asked to do the impossible and he had no idea  _how_. Telling him to focus wasn't really helping, but if he didn't appear to at least be trying, Maka would just bash him with a book and deny him the coveted pudding. She really was infuriating.

So Soul closed his eyes, which sounded odd since he was a weapon at the moment, but everything about being a weapon was really fucking odd, so this was pretty much par for the course. He tried to concentrate. Maybe if he thought about her and her soul? He knew what she was trying to achieve, but it sounded like some strange fairy tale to him, this idea they could link souls and use that link to make each other stronger.

Then he felt something, light and warm and intrusive. He couldn't explain it, exactly, but it wasn't...unwelcome so much as it was new. He tried to latch on to it, this odd warmth. Soul reached out for it with his… he wasn't really sure, with himself, really, his inside, his essence. He reached out and embraced it and it embraced him and he realized this warmth, this light, was her. He had found Maka's soul. Well, fuck. It was odd and frightening and absolutely wonderful, but he had no clue what to do next. She spoke, and though he could hear her, he also felt her words inside his mind, and the stereo effect was disconcerting.

"Now, keep drawing on my soul. I'll draw on yours. Back and forth, we will resonate."

"Umm… I don't know…that seems…"

"Don't worry, just follow my lead, okay?" His eyes were still closed but he could—it was difficult to describe, but he could feel her smile inside his mind and found it oddly reassuring.

"Okay," he agreed.

"Good. Now. SOUL RESONANCE!" she screamed and he felt her pull, tug even, at everything that was him, and almost instinctually, he tugged back. Soul didn't know what was happening, not precisely, but he could feel them building on one another, could feel what he could only describe as raw power surging through them both. He opened his eyes, almost involuntarily, and could see the light surrounding them. So this was Soul Resonance. It was… well, it was pretty fucking amazing was what it was. But it was more than just power. He was part of her soul, she was part of his. He suddenly felt and knew more about Maka than he had ever thought it was possible to know about anyone, and he knew that it was the same for her. He felt like he could reach out and touch her memories if he just grabbed on hard enough, and it was horrifying and enticing, weird and wonderful. But the thought that she could do the same scared the living shit out of him and Soul pushed himself away, suddenly, forcefully, from that contact. His memories, of Wes, of their life together, that was all he had left, and he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone take that from him. Fuck that. The resonance broke—it was sudden and almost painful—and he quickly flashed out of weapon form, crouching on the ground and panting. He looked up at Maka, his expression carefully neutral.

"I did what you asked. Now where's my fucking pudding?"

"What in the hell was that?" she was looking down at him, her green eyes flashing with fury.

"We resonated or whatever," he shrugged, straightening himself. "Just like you wanted. So now, I want my pudding, tiny tits." Soul had figured out in the first few days with her that the quickest way to piss the Scythe Meister off was to make any sort of disparaging remark about her body. As much as her rage was a frightening force of nature unto itself, as much as he loathed and dreaded it, it was also pretty useful in steering her unrelenting inquisitiveness away from whatever goal she had at the moment. It served as an instant distraction, and he used it that way now.

"UGH! You are such an ASS!" Her fury redirected, he stoically took the book to the head he knew he had earned. "MAKAAAA CHOP!"

At least, he thought as the blackness took him, when he woke up there would be pudding.

* * *

Sometimes, Soul wondered what pudding would taste like fresh. It's not that the long past its prime stuff was terrible, exactly, but he imagined it wasn't as good as it could be. As he spooned the gooey substance into his mouth enthusiastically, the Scythe found himself thinking of all those delicious fresh meals he'd seen people smiling or crying over on film, entirely taking for granted the bounty before them, and wanted to cry himself. For now, though, he had creamy, chocolaty goodness in his mouth, such as it was, and that was enough. Especially when he could tell that the girl across from him was seething and he was pretty sure he knew what she was seething about and just hoped (vainly, he knew) that she would let it be.

But of course, it was Maka, and if there was one thing he had discovered about Maka in the short time he had known her, it was that she was never, ever content to leave anything be.

They had downed some non-descript canned vegetables along with some Spam, and were now working on the pudding. Maka, however, was spending more time looking at Soul than actually eating. She was stirring her own pudding absentmindedly as she studied him, and he felt like she was trying to take him apart like some sort of project or puzzle, trying to figure out how the pieces fit. It was disconcerting, that intense gaze, that frown, and he kept looking anywhere but at her.

Finally, after a few more minutes of this silent, uncomfortable scrutiny, he decided to stop being a coward about it and face her head on. It was coming, so he may as well deal with it now, like ripping off a band-aid—the sooner done, the sooner they could get on with their lives.

"What?" Soul said, raising one eyebrow.

"Why?" she countered immediately.

"Why what? Why is the sky blue? Why do birds suddenly appear? What the hell are you asking?"

Maka huffed, clearly realizing that he knew exactly what she wanted.

"Why did you shove my soul away?" She looked angry again and almost hurt. He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

"It was just… too much, okay?" he muttered down to his pudding. She let out another huff in response and then he heard a small clang, Maka's spoon rattling in her own can of pudding as she set it on the table. He dared to meet her gaze again, which had softened considerably.

"Look," she began, "I know this is all strange and new for you, but we'll both get used to it and—"

"It wasn't that it was bad, exactly," he cut off what he could tell was going to be a speech. She didn't understand him, not really, and it was probably better just to tell some version of the truth. Another thing he had figured out about the meister was that she had an uncanny ability to tell when he was lying. "It just felt like maybe you would be able to see into my head, you know? And there are things I'd rather keep to myself." Much as he wanted to look away, Soul kept his eyes carefully on hers, and as that hurt flashed there again, he almost wanted to take back his words. Almost.

Maka looked away and muttered, "oh," then they were both silent for a while, him finishing his pudding, her just staring out the window at nothing in particular. Then, finally, she spoke, quietly but firmly.

"I won't look at your memories, you know. Those are yours, just as mine are mine. Unless you actively think of them, I won't see them." How had she figured out the heart of his problem? Then it occurred to him that maybe she felt the same way, had the same reservations, but was more determined to make this work. If they both respected that boundary, then maybe it  _could_  work. It's not like he had much to lose at this point.

"Fine, whatever," he lifted his spoon, waving it in her direction. "We can try again tomorrow, okay?" When Soul saw her face brighten in response, the smile reaching her eyes and seeming to almost light up the quickly darkening room, he couldn't be sorry he'd agreed.

* * *

After another week passed, they were getting very good at the resonance thing, and, true to her word, Maka had left his memories alone. It was strange, how comfortable they were becoming together. These two weeks of intense training felt like two months sometimes to Soul, so focused had they become. When you spend that much time in someone's head, it's hard not to form a bond, and they had been in one another's heads constantly while trying to perfect resonance.

That bond was why, when the meister had casually mentioned over breakfast that she thought they should go seek some kishin, Soul wasn't exactly surprised, yet he still balked; he hardly thought two weeks of training together prepared them for monster hunting, and he told her as much. Maka had countered that she thought they might be able to achieve something she called "Witch Hunter" eventually, a kishin slaying technique that her mother had used, and she wanted to test it, but even more than that, she wanted to test their training. She wasn't a novice, she insisted, even if he was, and experience told her that they were ready. Plus, she had added, dangling that extra little carrot that she knew would send him to the other side of the fence, they could do a little hunting and gathering, maybe get some fresh food. He couldn't help but to drool at the thought. Apart from a few stray berries and the odd fish, Soul had never in his life had fresh food, and the very idea of it intrigued him. He was starting to feel a little like the family dog he'd seen in so many films, ruled so consistently by his stomach, but he had to admit the very idea of fresh anything was ridiculously fantastic.

So Soul finally, reluctantly, agreed—not only was there the prospect of food, but it was the only thing he could do to get her to shut the hell up. The woman was unrelenting when she set her mind to something.

Being held in Scythe form as his meister tramped through the woods took some getting used to, but it was easier than being spun about and, being so deep in the long since overgrown forest of the New England countryside reminded him of home. Maka had told him she would walk and keep her Soul Perception focused until she sensed a pre-kishin. They would not have to go far. Though the house they'd chosen was in a more remote area, heavily forested, kishin eggs were numerous enough in their decaying world that they could be found pretty much anywhere. Soul guessed that they had gone, perhaps, two or three miles, Maka frequently having to use his blade to cut through the thick underbrush (an experience he did not enjoy, but he kept reminding himself that he was a tool, a weapon, and thus meant for such tasks,) when she halted.

"Wha—"

"Shhh!" Maka hissed before he could say more. Her eyes were open but had gone almost glassy, as if she were looking somewhere very far away. After several moments, she blinked and her focus seemed to return.

"I found one," she said softly. "Perhaps a mile from here. Less, I'm pretty sure. It's too far away to read how strong it is, though. We should get closer."

"Lead on," Soul responded, as if he had a choice. She was the meister; he was in her hands unless he chose to actively protest and potentially risk both of their lives in the process. He found that both comforting and frightening, to be so reliant on her even as she was wholly reliant on wielding him to defend them both. He had only ever relied on Wes, and he was gone; the shift was both comforting and difficult. He wrenched his mind back to the here and now, focusing on the forest around them as she ran. Dwelling on things, on what had happened, on the past, on his brother, it was all too fresh, too raw. It hurt and he couldn't afford to hurt with what they were doing, even if he wanted to do so, and he certainly didn't. He shoved the feelings back down into the deepest recesses of his heart and mind—his soul he supposed. That was where they belonged, now.

Maka kept moving quickly for several more minutes before she stopped again. Realizing that she was probably pausing to reorient, Soul remained silent as her eyes again went glassy. When she finally blinked them into focus once more, he asked, "You still sense it?"

"Yeah. It's close now," her voice was calm and even, yet there was something else in it too, a sharpness, an edge as keen as his blade. Was it determination? Anticipation? Fear? Soul suspected it was all three and more. His own swirl of feelings threatened to overwhelm him again at the thought. They were going to fight a monster. What the fuck was he doing here?

Calm. He needed to be calm. He was a cool guy, right? Cool guys didn't panic. They didn't freak out. They were clutch. They kept it, well, cool. He could do this. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

"How close?" he finally managed. Good. His voice sounded disinterested. Well, that was better than frightened.

"Not far. Less than a quarter mile. And it's stopped moving. I think—maybe—it just ate an animal soul. I sensed one with it a few minutes ago and then it was just…gone." She shook her head. "Anyway, I think we can take it."

"It's weak then?" he found himself asking. He should probably just let her do what she did and not interfere; she was the meister, she was the one with experience, this was her show. Yet, this was his life, too, and he'd be damned if he was going to risk it needlessly.

"Weak enough," she responded after a moment. She was biting her bottom lip and, as he had discovered early on in their "training," that was never a good sign. It meant she was hiding something, that it was more difficult or tedious or lengthy than she was suggesting.

"That's not a real answer."

"It's…I don't know, Soul," she finally snapped, "it's not like there's a formula. It's not ridiculously strong, but it's not the weakest kishin egg I've ever sensed either. I think we can handle it. Anyway, it's coming."

And suddenly choice was taken out of the equation as they both heard a shriek and she shifted into a defensive stance in the small clearing between trees where they had stopped. As the thing came into view—it could only be described as a thing, it certainly had long since ceased being human—Soul might have fled or cowered if he had been in human form. But he was a weapon and his meister stood firm.

The creature stopped at the edge of the clearing, its bulging eyes swiveling towards them, and let out another shriek. It was black and thin, with four long, spindly limbs and a small head on a long neck, a head taken up mostly by a mouth full of impossibly of sharp teeth. Maka had been teaching the Scythe about different types of kishin and he knew that those that were so far from their original form were more corrupt, and therefore, more powerful. Shit, there was no way they were ready for this. He was about to scream at Maka to run when the thing charged, and she side stepped. It hardly mattered. Those long limbs could  _stretch_ , and one hooked Maka's ankle as it passed, pulling her to ground as the creature swung back towards them. Crap, this was bad. What should he do? Should he…?

He got no chance to complete the thought as Maka rolled, quickly and awkwardly away, then leapt to her feet to face the kishin. This time, she did not try to dodge. Instead, she used the creature's own momentum against it, swinging Soul's blade ahead of her in a wicked arc. The kishin managed to dodge to the side, but not soon enough, and Soul felt the squish and grind as his blade cut through flesh and bone. He suppressed a shudder—it was the first time he'd been used to cut through something living. As the thing careened past, only to spin a dozen feet away to face them again, Maka just grinned at it. It was a vicious grin, full of confidence and blood lust, and Soul realized suddenly and wholly that this girl was a warrior in every sense of the word. His meister might be temperamental and strange, bookish and kind, but she was also a seasoned killer.

"Kishin, I am here to take your soul!" she shouted. "Prepare to die!" The pre-kishin responded with another shriek and then, out of nowhere, thick green goo shot from its gaping maw, covering the meister in slime. Maka shrieked, but she didn't seem afraid. If anything, she was even more pissed off and, wanting to end this, she shot forward, charging in a cry of rage, Scythe arcing. This time, she managed to slice into the creature's side, but it wasn't a deep cut, and the thing scrambled back, eyeing them with menace. Maka was still covered in green goo and she seemed to be tiring fast.

"Soul, we need to resonate!" she screamed. Now? She wanted to try this now, of all times? Well fuck. "Ready?"

"Yeah…" he said, trying to keep the reluctance from his voice.

"Right," she said quickly. "Let's go Soul Resonance!"

And as they had been practicing for the past week, they each reached for the other's soul, grasping on and letting out a single, primal scream as their power, their very essence, merged and mingled, flowing back and forth to increase with every pass. The resonance renewed Maka's strength and she surprised him by saying.

"Remember that thing I told you about? I want to try it." Soul willed his image to appear within his blade, a trick he had learned only days ago, and shook his head at her.

"No, Maka. Just kill it, okay?" The creature screeched again, spewing more green slime that they barely avoided before charging once more.

"No time!" she cried, and then, he felt her focus, drawing on their combined power. Felt the intensity of it, felt his own blade begin to grow exponentially from the sheer force her will.

"Witch Hunter!" he heard her scream, felt the power release towards the kishin. It was more power than Maka could handle and she fell on her ass, the destructive force she'd unleashed flying wildly. Ironically, it was the blunder that saved them. The kishin went to dodge the direct blow, only to be hit by the raw destructive power that had gone awry as Maka fell. It shrieked in protest, a death cry filled with rage and terror, and then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, replaced only with a single, glowing red orb.

Soul was not given time to marvel at it as he felt himself tossed suddenly, roughly aside and into the brush and heard Maka shrieking. The Scythe transformed, worried that there was another kishin near and she would need him. Blue flashed and Maka screamed.

"Close your eyes and don't move!" Soul could hear the sounds of rustling, heard her occasional groans.

"What's going on?" he finally ventured as he heard the rustling of her clothing cease.

"Take off your jacket and your shirt and throw them towards me. But DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES!"

"But…"

"Just do it, damnit Soul!" Confused, he still complied, stripping to his waist and throwing the discarded clothing in the direction of her voice. He heard more rustling, heard her groan several times, and then heard her say quietly,

"Okay, I'm done. We can go." When he looked, he finally understood. Maka's discarded clothing was in a pile nearby, covered in green goo. She stood only in his borrowed shirt, which was barely long enough to cover her, and she had scrubbed the green slime off of her with his jacket as well as she could. When he saw this, Soul thanked whatever gods might still exist that he had had the foresight to swap out his favorite leather for a military style coat he'd found in the house. The goo still coated her hair, but the tights and trench coat she had worn, along with a long pair of gloves she had found, had saved most of her skin, with only her face and neck looking raw and red, spattered with stray patches of green she had missed in her haste. From her continued grimace, he guessed it was painful, probably some type of acid or poison. Maka would need to do a better job getting it off soon, but it didn't appear to be fatal.

"Just…don't," she gritted out before he could comment. "You should eat that soul." Maka actually grinned at his visible surprise. "It's our first soul, you've earned it!"

"You really expect me to eat that?"

"Of course. You're a weapon—how else will you get stronger?"

"But—" The meister cut him off. She had a habit of doing that and it was starting to piss him off.

"Look, I know it seems strange, but trust me, you'll get used to it. You might even grow to like it—Papa said some weapons really do. Now, go on, bottoms up!" Her smile was reassuring and the last thing Soul wanted was for her to think he was some sort of wuss, so he forced himself to step up to the red orb, placing his hand under it gingerly. It didn't really feel like much, and he wondered at how it would taste.

"Now just put it in your mouth and eat it!" Her voice was cheerful, but he could hear the strain there, too. They didn't have time for him to mess about with this—Maka needed to clean up properly. That goo had clearly done her no favors.

Grasping it, he moved the orb to his mouth and—it was odd, but he sort of squished it in and it compacted to fit. The soul tasted…well, it didn't have much taste, but the texture was smooth and rich and wonderful. It was hard to believe this was the remains of a creature of pure evil he was ingesting; it felt more like ambrosia on his tongue and down his throat. He let out a satisfied "ahhhhh," then looked at Maka.

"Well?" she asked, voice expectant.

"It was good," he admitted.

"Good," she smiled. "Well, I guess this makes you a Soul Eater, then?" That smile widened at her bad little pun. He might have groaned, but he actually found the name pretty badass. He grinned back.

"Yeah, Soul Eater. Sounds good. When can we get more?"

"After I get the rest of this crap off of me," she half snapped. "Just keep your eyes ahead and don't look at me, okay? There's nothing else around—I'm pretty sure that thing ate every other threat within miles. I want to go to the stream we passed a bit ago, and then we should go home and get some rest."

"Sure thing," he offered lazily, the haze of satisfaction that had come with ingesting the soul almost intoxicating. He didn't even care that it seemed unlikely she would keep her promise of fresh food. Soul took a lazy look around the clearing, noting the line of destruction where her Witch Hunter had hit, before keeping his eyes ahead of him. "Lead on."

They started walking, Soul taking the lead this time at Maka's insistence (she didn't want him looking at her, it was indecent,) her instructing him on where to go as her sense of direction was almost uncanny and she remembered the way they had come. When they got to the stream they had crossed earlier, she made him turn his back. From the rustling sounds and loud splashing, the Scythe could guess that she had stripped and was now immersing herself. It took several minutes, but eventually the splashing stopped, the rustling returned, and Maka finally spoke.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go!" As he turned around and looked at her, her back to him, he noticed the goo was gone, even from her hair, but her skin still looked raw and angry on her neck and he couldn't help but to feel guilty, like he should have somehow prevented it. Soul also noticed how the grey t-shirt clung enticingly to her still damp skin and forced himself to look away, quipping "Yes, my meister" to hide his sudden embarrassment.

He'd meant it as a joke, poking fun at how bossy she could be, a play on an overused cliché, but she turned around suddenly and stared him square in the face, her own green eyes meeting his with an odd mix of emotion he couldn't quite place.

"You really mean that?"

"Mean what?" If he sounded confused it was because he was.

"That I'm your meister?" Her look was expectant. Soul grew uncomfortable under that earnest stare and looked away, running one hand through his white hair in thought.

"Yeah," he said slowly, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I think I do."

"So, you're willing to stick with me, then?" Maka pushed. She was good at that. There was another pause as he thought it over for a moment; there was nothing to consider, not really. Sure, she could be bossy and violent and annoying, but she was also strong and smart and brave and had just used him to  _slay a fucking kishin_. And they had mingled souls—that had forged a bond that Soul hadn't even begun to understand, but that he felt intensely. It made no sense, not when he put it to words, but he trusted her. Without Wes, she was all he had.

"Yeah, I think I am."

Maka walked closer, sticking out her hand. "Partners?" she questioned.

He looked from her hand back to those piercing green eyes and did not hesitate. He offered his own hand. "Partners," Soul agreed.

He'd made his choice. Hopefully, he didn't come to regret it.


	3. Soul Hunter

Finding the witch to transport her, paying her, finally setting foot on the soil of a vast continent on the other side of the world, that had been the easy part. The Nakatsukasa clan still commanded respect within the small chain of islands in which they were the chief residents, even if there were very few left to give that respect. In a place so remote, other than the loss of population, the Great Plague had affected them little. Her family of weapons had always lived traditionally, with few modern luxuries, and had been largely self-sufficient. When the end came for most of the others on the island, the only substantial change for the Nakatsukasas, other than their grief, had been that now the family had to labor. So they did the farming and the other things that had always been handled by others, and they carried on. Their weapon blood had given them a rare gift—both parents and children had survived. They were lucky in another way, too; remote as they were, far removed from the DWMA and ensconced among survivors who had known them from time before memory, they faced not the hardship of other weapons. And yet, their time would come. Nothing lasted forever, especially not the good things.

Even now, traveling in this strange land and searching for word of her quarry was less difficult than it was tedious. No, the hard part would come when she finally had to face him, to face down the murderer of her parents and exact the price of their loss from his tainted soul. Because in spite of everything he had done, everything he had become, there was a part of Tsubaki who still loved her brother, and as determined as she was, it would not be easy to kill him.

She had spent a year here. Months of fruitless traveling, of trying to catch wind of a sibling long lost to the darkness, listening for any clue, any rumor, anything. It was difficult traveling through this strange place alone; people were few, scattered, clustered, and suspicious. They blamed weapons for the Great Plague. Tsubaki had to hide who she was, what she was, and hope that she would not be discovered. But people were not the worst of it. Kishin roamed the land, ruled the land, in a way they had not, could not, roam her small island home. She had to be on constant guard. Mostly, she used stealth and cunning to avoid becoming their prey. Once or twice, traveling through the vast waste of nothing and no one, she had been chased and finally cornered by one of the many unfettered monstrosities that now ruled these lands, had had to use a partial manifestation of her Kusarigama form to defend herself. She had won, but barely, and ingesting the tainted red soul of corruption had given her no pleasure. Even still, seeing the despair all around her, the fear and madness that ruled here, she sometimes wished to veer off course, to begin chasing the monsters who kept the sparse populace cowering in fear, to help bring some hope to this strange land. But no, that would have to wait. Because the fear and madness embodied by her own flesh and blood must be dealt with first. Then, perhaps then, she could turn her eyes to other things.

Months upon months of facing the apprehension of others, of hearing little, of having to hunt and forage and endure in this strange place had finally led Tsubaki to one conclusion: she needed to go where there were more people. The California coast was a desolate place, with huddled, suspicious groups who whispered of the wrath of the kishin Asura, of his ironclad rule over all, his perpetual spreading of fear and anarchy. In Las Vegas he kept court, a city now not just of sin but of madness and violence, a place where only the strongest dared step foot.

It was just the type of place her brother might go. At the very least, it was the type of place where she might find word of him. Tsubaki could blend in there, become more than just an outsider to be shunned and questioned and given wary glances. If she could blend in, then maybe she could get real word. In a place full of sin and madness, word of Masamune seemed likely enough; he was a creature of sin and madness now.

So the Shadow Weapon had gone to Vegas, gone to the heart of the Kishin's rule, a city where monsters openly roamed the streets, where the only law was violence, the only citizens those who could survive. It was also a place where a weapon could exist as a weapon. People cared only for strength in Asura's city, and weapons were creatures of power just as much as kishin and witches were.

When she'd come here half a year ago, she hadn't known where to start. Raised on a small island with her family and few others, raised in a world of ghosts, even her forays on the California coast through small shantytowns could not have prepared her for the wonder that was Las Vegas. There was society here, something like civilization in the midst of the chaos. There was electricity, a wonder Tsubaki had heard of but never seen; it was rumored to be a feed from the working Hoover dam maintained by people who still knew the old technology, people who were fiercely coveted and protected for their skills. There was also food, real food, brought from surrounding farms, kept safe by those who wished for profit and power. Here, there were people, masses upon masses of them. Tsubaki had learned quickly of the gangs. There were over a dozen of them, though new ones rose and old fell daily. She had joined the Immortals by sheer luck, a group both strong and non-predatory, headed by a Werewolf named Free who ran a small dive bar near the heart of the city.

Tsubaki stumbled upon the bar shortly after arriving, exhausted and overwhelmed by her new surroundings. She ordered a water, which earned a strange look from the large man behind the bar. It turned out that the barkeep was Free himself. He had slapped the drink down and then given her a slow once over with his uncovered eye, the second eye obscured by a scarf wound around his head.

"Yer new here, girl." It wasn't a question, and Tsubaki just nodded. Her English was less accented than when she had first arrived on the shores of California, yet its cadence was still painfully foreign to natives of this place and she knew it. She preferred to speak as little as possible.

"Not a friendly place for anyone alone, Vegas. 'Specially not a girl pretty as you." The big man was making her slightly nervous. His posture and tone didn't seem threatening, yet why engage her like this? She concentrated and there was a flash of light.

"I can take care of myself," she responded, her voice and face serene, a sharp contrast with the partial chain scythe she now held in one hand, transformed out of her hair.

"No doubt, girl, no doubt." He put his hands up to show he meant no threat. "I just meant ya might want work, protection. Things I can help with. Can keep ya safe, give ya a place to sleep where no one'll bug ya, and food."

In theory, this sounded fine, but there had to be a catch. "In exchange for what?"

The big man shrugged. "Ya work here," when her eyes moved sharply to one of the 'working' girls with a customer in a dark corner, he put his hands up again and added quickly, "as a server. We take care of our own. No one's gonna make ya do anything ya don't wanna. Yer pretty and you got...talents, clearly. No one'll bug ya." He reiterated the last, maintaining the space between them.

Tsubaki eyed the man, considering. She tended to have a good sense about people and this man didn't appear to be a threat; he seemed sincere. The people who worked here didn't look frightened or abused. New here, overwhelmed, but still knowing that a place like this, so close to the heart of things, would be as good as any and better than most for finding news of her brother, she took the offer immediately. She heard an odd shout of "Yosh!" behind her and thought little of it, though she would later realize who had done it and even why. Strange to think he had eyes for her even then.

It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Masamune was Asura's chief assassin. The Kishin would abide no challenge to his rule and any rumored even remotely capable of bringing order to the world—especially those who dared slay pre-kishin regularly—were deemed threats to be eliminated. Asura was insane and powerful, a real Demon God. He was a being of fear and madness, and Tsubaki could feel both radiating from the center of the city in waves, constant as the tide, ebb and flow aside. Sometimes, the madness would take someone when least expected and a new kishin egg was born. No, not just sometimes; it happened daily. Tsubaki tried to ignore the madness all around her because she was only one person, and so, could do nothing to change it. But she could deal with her brother, could and would. That was why she was here. She needed to stay focused lest the madness take her as well.

Her new little family helped. For all he was a Werewolf and an Immortal, for all he could be erratic and impulsive and strange, Free protected his own. He was fiercely loyal, and Tsubaki sometimes found herself wondering why and how he had ended up here, though she would never ask and she was sure he would never tell her anyway. Still, she found that she liked the Immortal almost in spite of herself, and in spite of rumors of a rough past including some serious bad blood with the witches. All that didn't matter, not in this world, not with the witch population as wiped out as the human one. The Great Plague had hit everyone hard and they were all just struggling to survive.

Tsubaki was far from the only employee Free had, and she had befriended several. Most were people who had nowhere else to go, who gladly took the protection the powerful Immortal offered. Most were also strong in their own right, and numbers made them stronger. She was closest to three, a witch, a weapon, and a would-be assassin. She tried not to like them, not to get too close, but Tsubaki was not made for distance and distrust and the trio had wormed their way into her feelings. The two other girls, Kim and Jackie, were both servers like her, and they swapped rumors and stories of wandering hands and wagging tongues daily. The friendship was not just nice, though, it was also helpful; the Shadow Weapon heard much in the way of Masamune's doings from her two friends.

The other member of her little group was one of the bouncers, a blue-haired would-be ninja who called himself Black*Star and whom Tsubaki couldn't help but to like in spite of his boisterous nature and out of control sense of self-worth. Black*Star was the surrogate son of their patron, and the Werewolf had taught him to fight. He was strong, fast, and lethal. He also genuinely cared for his friends, a group that had recently come to include her.

The blue-haired boy was strange and loud, but also kind. Tsubaki had seen him give food to those who begged outside when Free wasn't looking, had seen him defend the weakest patron when threatened, and she was not oblivious to the fact that he kept those who frequented the little tavern from even looking at the servers the wrong way. She was also not oblivious to his attentions towards her. Sometimes, she would find a favorite sweet on her pillow at night and know instantly where it came from. Others, there would be fresh flowers in her room and she could well guess at who had brought them. He never said anything, but when she talked, he listened, and the boy listened to few. It worried her even as it stirred something nameless within her. She had something she must do, something that might bring her end, and she had no wish to cause grief. Close as they were, the Shadow Weapon tried to maintain distance, but Black*Star had a way of ripping down any obstacles in his path and her own walls were no different. So she allowed the friendship and hoped it would not cause him pain when she left, knowing it was a vain hope.

That moment, when she would finally leave, when she would abandon this new family in her need to rid herself of the last vestiges of her old one, did not come for months. The rumors she heard of her brother were always too vague to be useful. Things Masamune had done, people he had killed—never what he had yet to do or where he had yet to go. That all changed the day Giriko walked in. The man was a weapon, loud and violent. Tsubaki worried that he would explode one day and take the place with him, but mostly he just threatened and drank and wagged his tongue in his extreme inebriation as he groped one of the brothel girls Free kept on staff. As Arachne's protector, her left hand as it were, Giriko was privy to a lot of inside information. Arachne was Asura's own left hand and, some rumored, his lover. Tsubaki wasn't convinced such a creature could have a lover, but whatever the case, the spider queen was part of his inner circle, giving Giriko access as well.

At first the Shadow Weapon had only learned places where her brother was currently, places too far away for her to have a chance to follow. One time she had learned when he was in the city at that moment, but had decided she would have no chance if she tried to take him amidst the Kishin's stronghold—far better to chase her brother into the open where she could face him alone.

Then, one afternoon, Tsubaki got the break she had sought all along. Asura was sending Masumune on a kill. As Arisa straddled his lap wantonly, Giriko groped her freely, going on about some meeting he had overheard between Arachne and Asura. "…and he tells her he's afraid of the threat in the East," Giriko slapped the brothel girl's bare ass at that for emphasis. "Some fucking Kishin." The weapon rolled his eyes as he scoffed. "The so called God of Fear is afraid of fuckin' everything."

"But you aren't," Arisa practically purred at him. Tsubaki had no idea how she did it; she knew for a fact that the witch hated the bastard Chainsaw.

"Nah, I don't fear shit," he said. "But that pussy Asura does. 'S how Arachne keeps him so fucking tame. And she does her thing, right, rubbing up on him like the fucking whore she is, and she says that it's okay, that the people in Boulder wouldn't be a threat for long, that Masamune was leaving soon and would take care of everything, as always. But then Asura goes all batshit like he does sometimes, and gets her in a chokehold, and growls at her about what happens if he doesn't. But Arachne is one smooth bitch and she just goes on about how Masamune will deal with it, but even if he doesn't, that Asura is a god and will crush any who oppose them. Then she dismisses me like she I'm some fuckin' dog—'cause she's probably gonna suck his filthy cock or whatever the fuck they do. Not like I'm gonna stick around to find out. I don' wanna hear some whore get fucked unless I'm doin' the fucking." He practically growled the last part, pulling Arisa to him. "Speakin' of," he continued, grabbing one breast hard. "'S past time I fuck you."

Arisa squealed and began pulling him eagerly to a back room, and Tsubaki marveled again at her fortitude and ability to deceive. But she didn't have time to worry about that, or about the screams and moans coming from the now occupied room, because she finally had what she needed. There were people in Colorado, people Asura wanted dead. Masamune would be going to Boulder—and so would she.


	4. Road Trip

They were tearing down the road like a bat out of hell, the sound of the motorcycle roaring in their ears. Time to put some distance between them and yet another town. Time to run away again. Maka couldn't help but to smile to herself in spite of it all. Isn't that what the old meisters had done, the old weapons? Wasn't it better this way than cowering in a corner under the rule of an asshole like Noah?

She wasn't allowed to muse for long. The motorcycle came to a screeching halt in front of an old gas station. Sometimes, so close to nowhere and nothing, these places would still have fuel as well as food. Well, a girl could hope.

As it turned out, the place had neither, had been picked clean long ago. It did provide shade on a scorching day, however, and a place to rest for a bit. It was an unseasonably warm Autumn, and Maka was grateful to get out of the heat, if only for a short while. As Soul wheeled the motorcycle into an old garage, Maka took a seat on what used to be a counter, perched somewhat above him. She could already tell from his wavelength that he was fuming, and his anger was clear on his face as he looked up at her.

"How many times?" was all he said.

"What?" She blinked, though as the synapsis fired she knew exactly what he was asking.

"How many fucking times have we done that, Maka?" Soul gritted out again.

Maka just shrugged and, if possible, he looked even more furious. She kept her gaze leveled on his, and it was Soul who finally tore his eyes away in a growl of frustration.

The growl reached his lips. "I didn't sign on for this shit." He slumped down to the floor, his back to her, resting against the counter on which she sat. It used to be some sort of tool counter, maybe, but now it was just dusty and old, the tools long since scavenged in passing desperation.

"What did you sign on for?" she asked calmly, hopping off the counter and sliding down to sit next to him. Maka had dug out some beef jerky from their stores and handed him a packet. It was so old and hard it tasted more like leather than food, but it helped to keep them from starving.

"Protection."

"Isn't that what we're doing?" she offered over the crinkling sounds of the jerky package being torn open.

Soul turned his head, his red eyes finding hers once more. "Fuck you, Maka. You know that's not what I meant." He bit into a large chunk of dried meat for emphasis, his too sharp teeth slicing into it far more efficiently than she ever could. Those teeth still fascinated her; she had never seen anything like them. Really, he fascinated her. He was so strange, not just his appearance but his personality, his very soul. As often as they had merged their essence over the past few months, she still didn't quite understand him. He was like a puzzle that begged to be solved, but there were just too many pieces missing. Sure, she had a bede on the big picture, but the smaller contours were yet gaping holes, and it bothered her.

"I know," she finally relented, letting out a sigh. "But is it really so terrible? You could have left long before now. You could have left the first time. You could even just refuse to help. You never do, though. Why not just leave if you hate it so much?"

It was his turn to sigh. "And go where? Do what? Wes is gone. What else do I have but this?"

"You don't have to help."

"Would it stop you from trying if I didn't?"

"No."

"Then don't be a fucking moron. You think I'm gonna let my meister run off and try to kill fucking kishin without a weapon? Shit, Maka, you should know better. 'M not gonna let you get yourself killed, even if you are a flat chested idiot."

The book slammed against his head half-heartedly at best, and Soul took it stoically, grunting and turning his head away. He was still pissed.

"I just, I can't let people keep dying, okay?" He turned back to look at her but said nothing, his silence a plea to explain. "My Papa always told me how it used to be, how the DWMA sent weapons and meisters to hunt kishin before. How those teams used to keep people safe. In the old days, the pre-kishin cowered, fearing discovery. They only attacked people in the most populous places, where they could hide in the crowd, or in places where there were so few people that none could stop them. They didn't roam openly, brazenly. Not before the Great Plague, not before Asura. I just… when I go into a place where people are only trying to live, to survive, I can't let some kishin egg hiding in their midst prey upon them, not when I can stop it. I can't sit back and do nothing knowing more people will die. I just can't." She took a bite of her own jerky, chewing thoughtfully.

"Those people don't give a shit, Maka. They watch as we kill the monster among them and then they try to kill  _us_. We risk our fuckin' necks to help them, and the only thanks we get is a knife to the back. Those people aren't  _worth_  saving."

"You don't really believe that." And he didn't, she knew he didn't from his wavelength. "They're scared, Soul. They've been fed lies for years. They think we're the bad guys. But maybe if we keep trying, keep  _showing_  them they're wrong, maybe it will make other people try. And maybe if enough of us keep trying, then something will change."

"Something will change, sure. 'Cause eventually this bullshit will get us killed. The change'll be we're fucking dead."

"Maybe," she agreed. "We could die, you're right. We've grown stronger, but we could die. Or we could live. And things could get just a little better."

"Maka," he was looking her in the eyes again, his gaze intense. "This is too big for us, way too fuckin' big. We're like raindrops trying to clean an ocean of shit. It ain't happenin'. Look, I wish things were different, too, but they're not, and two of us aren't near enough to change that."

"What if there were more than two of us?" Maka had meant to talk about this days ago, before she had sensed that kishin. Now was as good a time as any. Because Soul was right—wandering old New England and fighting stray kishin eggs wasn't going to change much.

"There aren't."

"There could be. You heard what that guy said about Boulder."

"What, the crazy asshole with the weird spiked hair? Even the guy with him thought he was losin' it. Ain't no way, Maka. He was batshit."

"What if he wasn't? He was a meister, Soul. The other guy? That was his weapon."

Her own weapon looked surprised, then pissed again. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" he growled.

"It's not like I could just blurt it out in the middle of the tavern, Soul. I'd have gotten us all killed. And then we were—sort of busy after that."

Soul sighed again in response. "Boulder is a long fuckin' way away."

"You've got a better plan?"

"Yeah, stayin' alive."

"We're on the road either way. What could it hurt to look there?" His breath was long and loud, the exasperation radiating from his soul.

"You aren't going to give this up, are you?"

"Nope." Maka smiled and Soul rolled his eyes back at her.

"Fine, whatever, we'll go to Boulder. But do you think we could not try to fight every damned kishin egg along the way?"

"Maybe," her smile widened.

"That's what I though." Another heavy sigh escaped Soul's lips, but Maka didn't care. Boulder was hope, and that was something they both desperately needed.

* * *

Having a destination was one thing, actually getting there was something else entirely. The first thing they had to decide on was a route. As rifled as the gas station was, it still had maps and they made use of them, laying out a map of what had once been the United States and trying to figure out what path would lead them where they wanted to go.

Maka was all for a more northerly route. As she explained to Soul, it had been more populated, so there would be more survivors and, hopefully, more news. Yet, that was not her true reason. Sure, it was true enough, but her real motivation was to continue what they had been doing for the past few months. Where there were more people, there would also be more people to help, to save.

Unspoken though her reasons were, Soul clearly sensed them because he insisted on a more southerly route—less populated, plenty of roads—and, ultimately, she let him have his way. As much as Maka wished to help others, she wished to see what was in Boulder even more. Besides, there were surely settlements in the South as well. Perhaps it wasn't a terrible idea. The meister agreed because in going at all, her weapon was offering a huge concession. She couldn't always have her way; it was a partnership, after all.

It was a decision she would eventually come to regret, but not yet.

After a few hours of poring over maps, they decided loosely on a route. They would pick up the old interstate system. They could catch 84 not far from where they were and take it to 81, which ran all the way down and over to 40. They would cross the country on 40, then pick up the smaller highways in Amarillo to go north into Colorado and to Boulder. That was the plan, anyway. There were far too many unknowns to know it if it would stick, and they had an incredibly long way to go.

They took some of the smaller byways on their journey, going off course at times to gather supplies—more tended to be left in the areas less traveled, more remote. By the time they made it to 81, in what used to be Pennsylvania, their saddlebags were filled with food, the sides strapped with extra gas tanks, and Maka sported a large pack stuffed with sleeping bags, extra food, and spare clothes. There was also a crossbow and a shotgun strapped to the back of the bike—to hunt, Maka insisted. Soul didn't protested; he knew as well as she did that such things might come in handy.

Mostly, their journey was uneventful. Soul had told his meister that he was used to running into people when he traveled with his brother, but Maka changed all that. She used her Soul Perception constantly, and they did not see others unless they wished it. At first, while looking for supplies, Maka used her talent to avoid anyone and everyone. As they made their way farther south, however, they eventually began to stop in small communities for news. Sometimes, they killed kishin. Others, there was nothing to kill. They always hid their bike and their things far from sight. They made occasional forays for supplies, and sometimes, Maka hunted. She taught Soul to hunt as well, taught him to use the crossbow to stalk large game. He wasn't good, but he was improving. The shotgun was reserved for emergencies—it was too loud to want to use otherwise. When Soul marveled at her survival skills, her ability to hunt and gather, she shrugged and smiled—her father had taught her well, and what he hadn't shown her, she had picked up in books. Maka knew she was teaching him things that would keep him alive and was glad for it.

The South was not so different than the North had been—small huddled communities and the occasional larger community that was well defended. Most were places of fear; they were ruled by tyrants and madmen and offered little hope. Maka remembered reading in all of those old books about the antipathy between North and South, about all the differences and nuances. When it came straight down to the core, though, when all the veneer of civilization and advancement was stripped down to the bolts, people were much the same, frightened and savage. Sometimes, she would see small acts of kindness and take heart, but the more she saw of the world the more she feared for the hopelessness of their wish for change. Medusa had done her job well and truly, and all the world was now much like the Ark. Maka kept dragging Soul to kill the stray kishin, kept doing what she could, but she she was beginning to despair that all they would find in Boulder was more of the same.

In spite of that mounting despair, Maka kept it bottled under a mask of cheer that she knew Soul could see right through, but would not cast off for both of their sakes. It could do no good to bask in defeat. As they moved on, slowly and steadily, things settled into a pattern. Travel for a few days, forage for gas and food, rest, enter a town, listen for news, maybe kill a kishin, flee the town with angry, hateful people nipping at their heels, and then repeat the process all over again. They faced danger, but came through. They grew together, as a team and as friends. More and more Maka wondered how she had ever managed without Soul by her side; caustic though he was, he was steady and sure and stood by her through anything. But even as their bond grew, even as their battles and their resonance and their constant proximity strengthened it, Soul could still surprise her. Perhaps her biggest shock had come when they'd stumbled into that house with the piano near Nashville.

The place was one that had been little disturbed, its owners boarding and sealing so carefully in the midst of so many other buildings that few vermin had bothered to take up residence. They thought all that care would lead to food, but were sorely disappointed. That was, until they found the piano.

The moment Soul set eyes on the instrument, it was as if he'd forgotten anything else existed. He walked over to it slowly, his hand running along the dusty top as he approached. He sat on the bench, not even bothering to wipe away the grime, and lifted the fallboard reverently. For a moment, he just sat there, staring down at the still pristine keys kept clean by their cover, and then let one finger fall on a key, then another.

"'S not too bad, considering," he mumbled, pressing down on more keys in succession. Finally, a look of immense concentration crossed his face, one Maka had not seen since he had been practicing mastering his weapon form, and he hunched his shoulders and began to play.

The melody was dark, eerie, and hauntingly beautiful. Soul had begun to expose her to the old music through his mp3 player and small, sun powered charger, but this was… different. As his playing picked up in pace and intensity, Maka found her gaze riveted to him, her soul transfixed by what she was hearing. She could feel the passion, the intensity in his soul, and it took her breath away. She had never felt that way about anything and she found it riveting and almost frightening. It was many minutes before he was done, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He shucked himself out of his leather jacket once he stood, and when his gaze settled onto her, he smiled almost sheepishly. "This is who I am."

Maka just stood there, still stunned. "It was beautiful."

He looked at her for a moment, then his smile became almost sad. "Thanks. Wes thought so, too."

The Scythe Meister would never have guessed that her Scythe had such sad, beautiful, powerful music inside of him, would never have guessed that his talent on a piano surpassed, perhaps, his strength as a weapon. It was another puzzle piece, another bit of him that she came to understand. The more of those pieces she fit together, the more she stood in awe of the whole. Maybe she had been the one to save him, but in the end, it was she who was better for it—because suddenly, she got to have him in her life. It was a painful thought that it took his brother's death to make that happen, more painful to realize that without that death they might not be here and now. She wished she could have really met Wes, have known him. He must have been amazing to have raised someone like his brother—caustic, insulting warts and all.

It was in Texas that everything changed.

Amarillo wasn't the most populous place they had been to, not by a long way, but there was a community there. Maka guessed, based on the souls could she could sense, that there were several hundred who lived within the inner barricade of the town. A good number of them were gathered in one place when they approached and she urged Soul to steer the bike in that direction, thinking they might blend into a gathering, perhaps learn some news. They were getting close to their goal now after weeks upon weeks of travel, and Maka was eager to hear more of Boulder. When they finally neared the point of gathering, they found it was a large, old, stone structure, a church of the old world. They parked the bike on the street and started walking slowly towards the building. A faded sign out in front of a large, grassy, deserted courtyard identified the place as St. Andrews, but Maka hardly glanced at it, too intent on what she was sensing inside. She stopped mid stride, concentrating, struggling to understand. There were still almost two hundred people in the church, but all she felt from them now was fear and confusion. There was also something she had not felt before. Two of the souls seemed to be a weapon and a meister, but they were different, tainted somehow. Maka shuddered at the darkness of their wavelength and looked at Soul, who was staring at her in confusion.

"We need to get in there. NOW."

Even as she spoke it, even as Soul transformed and she ran with him towards the door, it was too late. She heard a screech, loud and terrible. Then, silence. Then, worse than silence; every human soul had vanished and only weapon and meister remained. What Maka had expected, she could not say, but it hadn't been this. Where moments before she had felt the thrum of life, huddled close, now she felt nothing

"They're...gone," she whispered, her voice thick with despair. She shook her head, backing slowly away from the door. "I think… I think we should go."

"What?" Soul sounded confused.

"There's nothing here for us to do, not anymore." Maka was still backing away; the soul of the meister and weapon were moving closer, she could sense them, sense their raw power. It was unnerving. Those people were gone, slaughtered, and staying here would could not help them now. Anything that could kill so many so quickly...this threat was too much for them, much more than they were equipped to handle. They should go. Maka started to turn, hoping to sprint to the bike, when she heard a crash, one door bursting open, ripped from its hinges and hanging awkwardly. She whipped back around, hesitant to keep her back to whatever they now faced.

A moment later, a person emerged and Maka squinted in an attempt to see who she faced, the afternoon sun blinding her from where it peeked out just above the roofline of the church. It was difficult to tell in the shadow of the doorway, even more so with the high sun shining down so mercilessly, but the figure appeared to be wearing a long black robe or dress of some kind, and as the other meister stepped away from the shadows, Maka noticed even from across the expanse of grass in the church courtyard that the man (or was it a woman? She couldn't tell) was impossibly thin and pale beneath the harsh light of the afternoon sun. As the person began to draw nearer, he tilted his (or was it her?) head Maka's way inquiringly, lavender locks brushing one shoulder.

"Y...you were right. Th..there was another person out here. I w...wonder how she got away."

"What?" Maka couldn't help but reply, still edging back. They were getting ever closer to the bike parked on the street. Maybe if they could get to it, they could get the hell out of there.

The figure shook its head sadly. "Y...you should have run. I..it's funny, you know? Y..your friends, they were all praying. B...but there are n..no gods, n...not anymore." The other meister was getting close, too close. And this meister… there was no weapon visible, but she could sense the second soul within, dark, menacing, and in control.

"What the hell is going on?" She heard Soul's voice at her ear, quiet but urgent.

"I don't know," her voice was also quiet. "That's the meister I sensed, but the weapon is—I don't know. It's like the weapon's soul is inside the meister. I don't understand… and all the people." She shook her head, confusion clear on her face. "Their souls are tainted, but it's the weapon soul that feels in control. It's—"

"A…re you talking about m...me?" The other meister strode forward, bridging the remaining space between them to stop only a few steps away. "B..because it's..n…not polite to t..talk about a person right in front of them. N…not polite at all. B…but…hey! Y…you're pretty, y..you know? I…I don't know how to deal with a p...p…pretty girl." Suddenly, the strange meister arched back and let out a scream and black ichor exploded from behind and began spreading. Maka looked on in wide eyed horror, Soul repeated "what the hell?" and then, the ichor began to take form into—well, a person, sort of. It was a huge, muscled black torso, complete with arms and a head. The eyes were white, and there were white markings on the face and hands. Altogether, the thing that had emerged from the other meister's back looked like some kind of misshapen doll, eerily backlit by the light of the now obscured sun as the thing towered above them from out of the other meister's back. The Scythe Meister stifled a shudder. What manner of evil had they stumbled upon here? It was the weapon, she was sure of it—the weapon was  _part of the meister's body_. Maka was frozen in place, unable to act.

"Crona, you idiot!" the black thing bellowed, punching the smaller figure in the side of the head. "What the hell are you doing? This isn't a tea time chat. Kill them and get it over with. Medusa's gonna be piiiiiised if we don't get back soon."

"But…but….she's a girl." The strange meister whispered. "I…I don't know how to d..deal with a pretty girl. I don't th..think I can k...k…kill her."

Maka tried to edge further backward, further towards their salvation as the enemy was distracted, but the other meister was still far too close. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"Just do it, damnit. You can kill her same as you can kill anyone. She's just another shitty human with a shitty soul and she's a meister, and she's got a weapon, so I'm thinking they might actually make a damned fine desert." A huge tongue emerged and the grotesque thing licked its not-lips in anticipation. Crona paused, seeming to listen to nothing for a moment, then said, to no one in particular.

"Y…yes, i…if you think it's o..okay." The meister turned to Maka suddenly, looking straight at her. She had managed to retreat another several feet, but it wasn't enough. "I th..think this is goodbye. Ragnarok?" The black man-creature-thing suddenly dissipated into black ooze once more before reappearing in the meister's hand as a long, wicked blade.

"So he's the weapon." She heard Soul at her ear, understanding hitting him finally.

She nodded in response, too stunned even to berate him for his statement of the obvious.

"You ready?" She asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice. There was no choice now; the bike was still too far away. If she turned her back to flee, she left herself open. All she could hope for was to try to bring the fight closer to the bike and figure out a way to distract the enemy for long enough to get away. Either that, or hope that somehow, someway, they were strong enough to stand against this threat. It was a fleeting hope.

"Yeah."

That was all they had time for as the other meister charged and Maka had to block with Soul's blade. She heard her weapon grunt in pain as she blocked and her brow furrowed in concern even as she sprang back. These two…their souls. They were so strong, too strong—she needed to come up with a plan, something, anything, if they were going to have a chance to live through this, but there was no time to think as the Sword Meister came at her once more, blade sweeping towards her in a fast arc. She dodged and then came in from the side in a feint, spinning to attack from the other direction and catching Crona by surprise. Soul's blade sliced into the Sword Meister's shoulder and should have cut the arm clean off, but the flesh was—hard somehow. Maka didn't quite understand.

"Ah, ah, ah. You can't kill me that way." The Sword Meister's once eerily blue eyes had gone completely black, and Maka shuddered involuntarily. Despite what was, even without the clean slice, a wicked wound, the other meister was grinning and began to laugh as the wound disappeared, the black ichor sealing it completely. Maka scrambled back in horror, trying to put more distance between herself and the other meister, trying to edge closer to the bike and possible salvation. They had to try something else, but the enemy gave her no time, coming at her again with frightening speed. Maka dodged and kicked the Sword Meister squarely in the head before flipping back, but Crona was right there, seemingly unfazed by the blow, and the Scythe Meister barely brought Soul up in time to block. She heard another groan of pain and watched in horror as blood seeped from the place on Soul's haft where the sword had connected. Shit. Shit shit shit! She couldn't block. She needed to come up with something, fast. Maka went low, executing a sweeping kick that brought Crona crashing to the grass before rolling back, giving herself space as Crona rose. A distraction now, a decisive blow, might be their chance.

"Soul!"

"On it!"

"SOUL RESONANCE!" they screamed as one, light surrounding them. It took a mere second, and then she was bringing his blade around towards the rising Sword Meister.

"WITCH HUNTER!" she cried as the Scythe glowed and she ran at her enemy, slicing through Crona with Soul's extended blade. The black ichor flew everywhere and Crona stumbled back. With a smile and a shake of the head, the Sword Meister looked at Maka, eyes still black as coal.

"N..nice try, really. But n..not good enough. S..so much fight. S..so like the little one. Too bad I h..have to kill you."

Maka gasped as the blood repaired the meister, the blow of the powerful witch hunt erased as if it had never been. The remaining blood then flew at the stunned Scythe Meister and she spun back, barely dodging the wickedly sharp needles of black. Slicing Crona would do nothing but give the other meister more blood to use against them. Blocking the blows of the Demon Sword seemed to hurt Soul. Even witch hunt was worthless. They were defenseless. Maka backed further towards the bike, her mouth slack, her eyes wide.

"We have to run," her voice sounded small. Her back finally found the motorcycle as Crona steadily advanced. The black eyes of the Demon Sword Meister gleamed wickedly, taunting, the madness radiating from both weapon and meister. Maka saw the sword coming for her and went to mount the bike, scooching her rear onto it and planning to swing a leg over, but there was no time and no space and she watched in awe, in horror, as the sword blade arced, reaching for her, sharp and black and menacing. There was no room to dodge and she wouldn't block, couldn't. To block would be to hurt her weapon and he was all she had left. They hadn't broken resonance, and she felt her partner's intent only the instant before it happened.

"MAKA!"

"SOUL, NO!"

Their screams were simultaneous, their resonance broken by the flash of light, his body materializing before her, knocking her over and on to her back as she toppled with the bike and sprawled atop it. She watched in horror as the sword struck home, struck where she had been standing seconds before. His blood flew in an arc, spattering her face, the bike, the roadside, and Crona as the weapon boy collapsed to the ground in front of his meister. Maka heard herself scream again as she scrambled from the fallen bike and knelt over her weapon, horrified at the gaping wound, at the blood pouring from his chest, tainted with streaks of black from the sword that had gutted him.

"Damnit, Maka—run…" his voice was weak and his eyes rolled back into his head as he groaned, falling into unconsciousness. She felt rather than saw the Demon Sword Meister looming over her and dragged her eyes up from her partner as the other meister met her gaze.

"Goodbye, little one," Crona almost whispered, bringing the sword down with a cruel smile, though there was something that almost seemed like regret in the Sword Meister's eyes. Maka looked up, looked her own death in the face, and did nothing. There was nothing left to do, and without Soul, nothing left to live for. They had failed. No, she had failed him. It hurt, but it was too late, far too late, for regret.

She closed her eyes, holding Soul to her tightly as the sword descended. And then there was a loud explosion, a flash of light brighter even than the glare of the afternoon sun, a shudder of the space around her. Was this what it felt like to die? She expected the pain every moment, but there was none—only a scream from Crona, the sound of the other meister shuffling back and collapsing. Maka opened her eyes and gasped as three figures came into view, rushing past her to surround the fallen Sword Meister. Two she had never seen before—a dark skinned boy carrying what looked like an odd cross between a gun and a crossbow, and a tall, pale, blonde woman. The third, however, she recognized with a strangled cry. Tall, red hair flaming in the bright sunlight, dark clothes.

"Papa?" she questioned. The red-haired man turned and smiled down at her. This must be heaven, then, or hell, because she was staring at a dead man. And yet, Maka could feel her partner's weak breaths, feel her own wounds, hear the sound of the Gunbow firing.

"Maka. Papa is here. I'll take care of this, and then—"

"You have to help him, please!" The redhead looked down at Maka's fallen partner and frowned.

"Marie! Can you…?"

"On it," the blonde woman replied, coming up to Maka and examining Soul as Maka's father turned his attention back to the Sword Meister. Maka couldn't watch, couldn't care what happened. Dead or not, she had eyes only for Soul, for making sure he was safe.

"This is…bad." The other woman murmured, shaking her head. Maka noted her eye patch and couldn't even muster enough care to wonder what had happened. The blonde, Marie, pulled out some medical supplies from a small satchel slung around her torso, cutting away Soul's shirt and using a combination of tape and gauze to bind the wound. The gash was long and hideous, and Maka found herself crying, trying not to scream as she saw her partner's insides laid out before her.

"We'll have to get him to Stein quickly." Marie shook her head again, then looked at Maka. "Stay with him. I've done what I can but..." She trailed off, letting out a long breath and Maka stifled a sob as the blonde woman rose. The clamor had continued near them and Maka looked down to her unconscious weapon, his breaths shallow but even, before finally daring to raise her eyes to the fight above.

Crona was injured and surrounded. The boy wielding the Gunbow fired yet another powerful shot, slamming into the Sword Meister with deadly accuracy, then Marie and her father came in, the woman with her arm transformed into a lethal hammer, her father with his scythe blade, each striking a blow on the cowed Sword Meister. The black blood from the freshly inflicted wounds shot towards them all in deadly needles, and Maka arced her body over her partner to protect him from the stray attack. She grunted in pain as several hit home on her back and shoulders and heard the others grunt in turn from the hits they could not dodge. She noticed the kid preparing another shot as she dared look up again, and was impressed briefly with the powerful soul of the weapon he held.

All eyes then turned to the downed Sword Meister, who shouted, "Scream resonance!" The group was assaulted by an ear piercing shriek, followed by a shout of "Screech alpha!"

The sound and fury unleashed blew every opponent back, and Crona stood.

"R…Ragnorok. We n…need to go."

"You fucking think so, genius?" The mouth on the sword sneered as Crona whipped the weapon around, and then, Ragnarok disappeared from the meister's hand. Tentacles of ooze sprouted from Crona's shoulders and the meister ran and leapt into the air, taking off in a flurry of black wings. There was a collective gasp and the boy with the Gunbow sprinted forward, firing another shot at the fleeing enemy that grazed a wing, but they kept flying and soon were out of sight among the clouds and the blinding mid afternoon sun.

Maka let out a deep breath, of relief, of despair. Somehow, someway, they were alive, she and Soul both. As she looked back down at her pale and bloodied partner, she prayed with everything she had, to Shinigami and every god known and unknown, that he would stay that way.


	5. Boulder

It was dark. So very, very dark. He was all alone in this place, this hell. He could walk endlessly in the black void, walk in it, float in it, it didn't matter. It extended forever, extended everywhere and nowhere. It was everything and nothing. It was his world, now, and he despised it. Sometimes, he would call out, hoping to find someone, anyone."Wes?" No answer.

"Maka?" Nothing.

"ANYONE?" Silence.

It was the quiet, the complete and total lack of sound, that most bothered him. He had always been a creature of sound, of music. He needed it; it was a part of his soul. He found himself humming just to fill the void, just to hear something, anything. Occasionally, it worked. Usually, he just felt more alone.

When he was tired or bored, which was most of the time, Soul would lay down in the dark nothing and sleep. He would always dream; they were vivid dreams, sometimes terrifying, sometimes nostalgic. He had seen countless times in the movies he was raised on the cliché that your life flashed before your eyes when you died, and thought maybe that's what this was. Maybe he was dead or dying and this was his life flashing before him, slowly, painfully, before the final moment. He should be dead; he had felt the pain, the rending of flesh and even bone as the sword cut into him, slashing deep. Soul had always figured death would have more light. But perhaps this was hell or limbo or even just his final moments, his brain easing him into non-existence. Whatever it was, the dreams were odd and disjointed.

Some of the dreams were wonderful in the moment. Reliving memories of his brother, of watching old movies together, of walks together through the vast forest surrounding their cottage, or of swims in the nearby lake. Of learning the piano, of hearing Wes play his violin with such impossible sweetness that it made his heart ache. The memories of Wes were like his lifeblood, pouring out into his heart and his mind, and when he awoke to find himself in the black void once more, it felt like that lifeblood was bleeding out. He felt like he had lost his brother all over again.

Other memories were more recent. He relived Wes' death over and over again, and each time he felt more of his heart go numb, the pain too much to bear. And he relived his time with Maka. As he did, he realized that those memories had become precious to him, too, now that she was beyond his reach, now that he was dead or dying and most likely, she was, too. Sometime in their months together, she had become his world, his reason for living, and the thought that he had failed, that she was dead, tore him apart.

The strangest dreams were of the demon. They were always in an odd, tacky room that looked like some sort of cheesy singing lounge from a bad movie, only instead of tables and a stage, it had a single chair and a stand with an old phonograph playing sub-par jazz. The demon, with its massive head and grotesque smile, sat in that chair and laughed at him. He would tell Soul that he was looking forward to working with him, would suggest that he let go and give into the madness inside. Every time, Soul told the thing to fuck off; maybe this was hell, but it didn't mean he had to listen to some little asshole spout nonsense. The dream would invariably end, then, and he would find himself in the black once more. Fuck, how he hated that dream.

He was in the black again now, the endless void. He didn't know how long this had been his world, but it felt like an eternity sometimes, like this cycle of dreams and memories and darkness had always been the whole of his existence. He was losing his grip on himself in this nothingness, losing his sanity. He would give anything to be back with Maka, or with Wes, to see them safe, to know that everything was okay.

"Hello…!" he called out to the nothingness in his frustration. How he loathed this place, this emptiness, this loneliness.

"You called?"

Soul recognized the voice even before he spun to face the figure who had encroached upon his solitude. It couldn't be—not here.  _There was never anyone here._  And yet, as he turned, he found the demon where it had never been before. The black void was empty no more. He frowned at his dream nemesis, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Talking to you, it would seem. You  _did_  summon me."

"Like hell I did."

"You didn't want to be alone, isn't that right? Well, now you aren't."

"Just go away," Soul sighed and took a few steps back, putting distance between himself and the demon thing.

"Ah, but I have a proposition for you. Don't you want to hear it?"

"No. I've seen enough movies to know that deals with the devil are a bad idea."

"Ah, but Soul, I'm not the devil. I'm you, or at least, a part of you."

"Still not interested."

"Even if it means you can get out of here?"

"What?" He knew he sounded surprised.

"Ah, now I have your attention. Good. Yes, Soulie-boy, I can get you out of here."

"And what? I have to sell you my soul or some shit? Thanks but—"

"This isn't one of your old movies, Soul. I want you to be free as much as you want it. This one is on me. We won't be able to go any further with you stuck here, so it is in both of our best interests that you get your wish."

"There has to be a catch. There's always a catch."

"No catch. Say the word and this place will be a thing of your memories." The demon emphasized the last word and his face split in a hideously knowing smile. Soul couldn't help but to scowl in response.

"So I, what, tell you I want the fuck out of here, and it happens?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Fine, I want the fuck out of here."

"As you wish." The thing's grin widened. The demon snapped and was gone, but in his place was a light. Soul moved towards it, mesmerized. He suddenly felt pain splitting him in two, his chest on fire. It hurt so badly, so very badly, but he had to reach the light. Was this… an exit? He reached out, extending his hand, and felt the pull of thing, the brightness enveloping him. Then he heard a voice.  _Her_  voice.

"Soul?" she questioned. He moved forward, drawn towards her voice. He wanted to see her again, whole and alive. Needed to see her again.

"Maka?" He emerged into the light only to hear her scream of pain. He looked down and screamed himself, shrieking in fear and horror. He was emerging from her body, rending her in two with his passing.

"Noooooo!" he heard his own cry echo in his ears as he slammed his eyes shut, panicked, fearing that whatever he did could only hurt her further.

Suddenly, he felt a hand in his, warm and comforting, even as he heard a soft voice cut through his screaming.

"Soul? Soul…? It's okay."

"M..Maka?"

He dared to open his eyes again. He was on a bed and Maka was seated on a chair beside him, his hand firmly in hers, a look of concern clear on her face. The relief overwhelmed him and he began to laugh. He was alive. She was alive. That other thing, that vision, that horror, it was just a dream. Or was this the dream? He couldn't tell anymore, and another low chuckle escaped at the thought.

"It's okay, Soul. I'm right here. Are you okay?"

He managed to choke down his laughter to respond.

"I'm alright. It was just a dream."

She nodded, smiling down at him, though he could still read the concern in her eyes.

"I'm so glad you're awake," she said softly. "I'm going to go get the doctor, okay? He'll want to check on you now that you've regained consciousness." She began to rise and Soul tightened his grip on her hand. If this was real then, then—

"Wait…where the hell are we? Are you alright? What happened?"

Maka shook her head.

"We're… we're in Boulder, Soul. I'm fine, but you almost died." Her voice was very quiet as she said the last.

"Boulder? So we made it? How is it? Is it—"

"It's great! This is a hospital—a working hospital! And they have power, real electricity just like in books! And there are other weapons and meisters here. Just wait until you see, Soul. But I should really get the doctor now. Do you think… I mean, will you be okay while I get him?"

In truth, Soul was enjoying the feel of her hand in his, the comfort of her presence, solid and  _alive_ , but he didn't want to sound like a baby by asking her to wait until someone else came in to get the doctor, so he just shrugged.

"I'll be fine. Do your thing."

Maka nodded, and while the smile remained, he could still read the concern there and something else. It looked suspiciously like guilt, and he called out as she turned and took a few steps towards the door.

"Hey, Maka!"

"W…what is it?" she spun back around and he moved his head to get a better look at her; he winced as shifting his body caused pain to lance through his chest.

"I'm alright, you know? I'm fine," he managed to get out through the pain, hoping he had masked it well enough that she wouldn't notice. His meister frowned at him for a moment and then forced a smile. If anything, the guilt was even more evident. Well, shit.

"Y..yeah, Soul, I know," she said, and then turned to walk out of the room. Soul pondered what she had said while he waited. So, they were in Boulder, in a real hospital. It was everything they had heard, apparently. Maka had almost seemed happy as she spoke of it. It was strange to think they had come to a place where hope existed, and he had to wonder if it was real or simply a will o' the wisp, more likely to leave them drowning than to find them safe.

The doctor, it turned out, was some creepy guy named Franken Stein, with a giant screw sticking out of the side of his head, a pair of square glasses, and the most sadistic, calculating smile the Scythe had ever seen. He came in to check the weapon's stitches and his vitals and to poke and prod in various places that seemed entirely unrelated to his wound. Soul had never seen a real doctor before (and he wasn't actually convinced this guy was one,) but from what he recalled in the many movies and television programs he'd spent his childhood watching, this guy seemed more like a potential serial killer than a doctor; his bedside manner was terrible. Nonetheless, Soul took it stoically and managed to suppress the occasional shudder. Stein informed him that he was healing well, much more quickly than he would have expected, and then, clearing his throat, looked towards Maka, who looked on silently from a corner of the room.

"If you would excuse us for a moment, Ms. Albarn, there is something I'd like to discuss with the patient."

"What? But he's my partner!"

"I know, but this is…confidential. If you don't mind?" He made a slight wave towards the door and Maka, scowling heavily, got up to leave. Soul thought about stopping her, thought about insisting she be allowed to stay, but then thought again. He wasn't sure what Stein had to say and the last thing he wanted was to make Maka feel worse. Maybe it was better if she went.

The door shut behind her, slammed was closer to the truth, and Stein turned to Soul, face devoid of emotion. After several moments, he finally spun the same chair Maka had been sitting on earlier around and sat on it backward. He looked down at Soul speculatively.

"So, Mr..?" the doctor said expectantly. "You'll have to excuse me, but your meister gave no last name." Soul had forgotten that he'd never shared his surname with Maka, though he suspected she had gleaned the information from their soul bond at some point. Yet, if she had, she had chosen not to tell this doctor, and he decided that he wasn't about to tell some stranger before he told her. Keeping it from her, keeping his past so close, it was beginning to feel laughable, and he found himself wanting to share it with her, to share his memories of Wes. Perhaps now he would have the chance.

"Eater," he said automatically, Maka's words those many months ago suddenly springing to his lips almost unbidden. The doctor raised an eyebrow in response, then shrugged.

"Alright, Mr... Eater, then. Spirit tells me that the meister you fought had a weapon inside

of him. He mentioned that the weapon could materialize as a sort of black liquid, and that the substance could harden to attack. Is that right?" Soul nodded, unsure of where the so-called doctor was headed with this.

"I think that the liquid was actually blood. A very peculiar, altered blood type. It is difficult to say for certain without a sample of the original, but it seems likely that the blood actually was the weapon. The properties are remarkable. I would very much like to study this meister and weapon, perhaps even dissect them." The sadistic gleam in his eyes was back, and this time, Soul couldn't suppress a shudder.

"Do you have a point?"

"Only this." The man's glasses shone under the halogen lights, obscuring his eyes. "Some of that blood fused with yours when you were injured; it is why you are healing so quickly. You carry the same black blood as your enemy now. I can't seem to purge it from you, and I'm not sure how it will affect you." Soul swallowed hard in response, and nodded.

"So what should I…"

"Do? Nothing. I could dissect you, if you'd like, maybe figure out—"

"NO! No, I'll figure it out myself. Thanks for telling me. Is this…it isn't dangerous for Maka, is it?" The doctor shrugged.

"I couldn't say for sure. Possibly. Possibly not."

"Well, that's helpful." Another shrug was his only answer, and Stein rose and spun the chair back around.

"Well, I suspect you and your meister have a lot of catching up to do. You'll be in here for a few more days, I'm thinking. Good night, then." And with that, the man strolled out of the room.

* * *

True to the doctor's prediction, Soul was allowed to go home after several more days in the hospital. Maka had been busy. They were assigned a small house to call their own shortly after they arrived, though the meister had not set foot in the place until after Soul awoke. Once he was clearly on the mend, she spent her time between home and hospital, getting the place ready for them, she insisted. It seemed they were to both live in the house together; as a weapon/meister team, it was the norm. Soul had no objection. They had been in close quarters for months, and at this point, he couldn't imagine living in a place  _without_  Maka. Hell, it was going to be strange just having his own room.

When he finally stepped foot in it, Soul found that their house was clean and furnished, with a large red couch in the small living room, a full media setup, and a shelf full of DVDs. There was a small eat in kitchen as well, and two bedrooms. Maka had painted his room grey and had somehow managed to find a set of black linens along with orange pillows. She smiled sheepishly when he said he liked it, and offered to take him to a place she called "The Warehouse" to find more things to decorate it. The place was a stockpile of relics from before the Plague, and Soul managed to score several band and movie posters and some more DVDs. Boulder really was a haven, a paradise compared to the shithole that was the rest of the world.

Soul wanted to enjoy being here, being with Maka, but of course, nothing was ever that easy. He felt weak, but the pain had lessened each day until it became a dull ache. He sometimes wondered if it would ever go away, but really, the pain wasn't his problem; it was nothing compared to the dreams. He had thought, at first, that they were restricted to the coma he'd apparently been in for over a week. He discovered quickly, within a few days, that he was wrong; the nightmares continued. Of emerging from Maka, and of the strange red demon who whispered to him of power. He hated going to sleep, hated the nightmares. Everything else was going so well—why couldn't his brain chill the fuck out and let him sleep in peace?

Sleep had always been something he enjoyed. Now it was hell, and worse, Soul needed the rest. A week after he left the hospital, a week into their new life, once she deemed the weapon healthy enough, Maka insisted that they resume training, and a week after that, she started to volunteer them for patrols. Hundreds now lived in Boulder, and all were expected to contribute in some way. Those who could not fight kept the place going; technicians of the old world had restarted two of the hydroelectric plants and trained others to work and maintain them. Some people farmed the nearby plains, while others raised livestock, and still others hunted and gathered the mountainside. But those who could fight, the weapons and the meisters and even those with physical prowess, protected the place. They went on patrols, they manned the borders, they went on runs to seek supplies from the outside world, rifling through the abandoned places that were everywhere, the same type of places where he and Maka had sought refuge for months. Soul knew such places all too well; after he and his brother had run out of food in their remote Maine haven, with skill neither to hunt nor gather, they had been forced to leave, to become but two more of the many scavengers who roamed the countryside.

Soul and Maka were expected to earn their keep as well, and as soon as Maka began to volunteer for patrols, they were assigned to be a part of a squad. Boulder was run by a small Council of those from the old DWMA, including that creepy Doctor and several of the people who had rescued them, but the real person in charge, also among their rescuers, was Azusa. She called the Scythe and his meister to her office a few weeks after their arrival, assigning them to a team of, as she put it, "young but experienced and competent meister-weapon pairs" that had been dubbed Spartoi. Apparently, the doctor had come up with the name. It figured.

Also on the Council, and also among their rescuers, was Maka's father, Spirit. His meister had told Soul all about the rescue when he was still recuperating in the hospital, relating in detail what had happened after he lost consciousness, but hearing about her father and meeting the man turned out to be two very different things. The tall redhead was nothing short of absolutely fucking nuts, and it didn't help things that Maka was angry at him; she had believed him to be dead when the truth was, he had basically abandoned her. Spirit insisted that when Azusa found him and asked him to come help build up Boulder, he had left Maka in the Ark because he knew she would be safe there, but that he had always intended to come back for her once Boulder was secure. He had come to her rescue, hadn't he? That wasn't good enough for Maka, and as much as she had talked of him adoringly when she'd thought him dead, she now could not mention him without venom.

For his part, Soul sided with Maka—leaving her behind, allowing her to believe he was dead for the better part of a year, these things were all ridiculously uncool. Plus, the old jackass kept vacillating between begging Maka for forgiveness and telling her how much he adored her or else, turning a scathing look Soul's way and insisting he stay the hell away from his daughter. Yep, the guy was a loon. How he had become a Deathscythe, how he had gained any sort of trust and authority, was beyond the younger Scythe, and yet, Soul was stuck having to follow the asshole's orders. What a fucking pain.

Still, Soul would put up with Spirit a thousand times over if that was what it took to be here, to stay in this place and to stay with Maka. Besides, they didn't really see her father all that often; Maka was so angry that she wanted nothing to do with him, so unless they were summoned for official orders, or unless he was barging in uninvited for the umpteenth time, he was a non-entity as far as either of them were concerned. Personally, Soul preferred it that way.

The young Demon Scythe was also less than thrilled with all the training. His favorite times were when they spent their leisure hours curled up on the couch watching movies or exploring the old city or The Warehouse. Maka, however, insisted on a strict regimen. He knew she felt guilty, that she didn't ever want a repeat of what had happened with Crona. He even understood it. Still, Soul wished she would chill the fuck out just a little more often. It's not that he hated training, exactly; resonating with her, being wielded by her, watching her elation as she resonated with him, wielded him, these things were fantastic. However, he was not so keen on the ever present exhaustion from his lack of sleep combined with constantly pushing their limits. Worse, Maka had enlisted help from Stein, Marie, and Azusa to learn more advanced skills, and more and more of their training time was spent with one of the Council members. Soul hated those days; he preferred to be alone with Maka. He hated even more all the talk of restarting the DWMA here in Boulder, of teaching and training the young weapons and meisters more formally. He had seen plenty of depictions of school in the movies. Frankly, he wasn't interested.

Several weeks after he had recovered, Maka pushed training after a patrol when Soul was on the brink of exhaustion. Between constant training and patrols and severe sleep deprivation brought on by the Oni, he needed something somewhere to give. As they sat on the small porch in front of their shared home and watched the stars overhead, Soul asked her if they could ease off, just a little bit; would it be so bad to relax more, to recharge?

Maka only sighed at first, and Soul gave up hope for an answer or a reprieve. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear her.

"No. No. But I can't. I need to be stronger."

"You're already strong."

"Not strong enough to stop Crona," she said meaningfully, keeping her gaze steadily fixed on the stars overhead.

"You don't have to face the world alone. You have me. We're a team. And we're part of a bigger picture, now."

"I couldn't protect you. You almost died. I...I can't let that happen again, Soul." Her gaze had strayed down to her fists clenched firmly in her lap. He moved to take one of her hands, and she relaxed her grip enough to let him interlace their fingers. He basked in the feel of her warmth against his skin for just an instant before speaking again.

"We did the best we could and we both came out alive. It's okay for us to get stronger together, but it's my job to protect you and I did it. Wasn't it you who told me the weapon protects the meister?"

"I was spouting the bullshit my father fed me," Maka said almost bitterly. "We're a team," she finally moved her eyes to search out his. "We protect each other, right?"

He nodded in acquiescence, but he didn't mean it, not really. If it came down to it, he'd do it again, he would protect her every time, because dying would be better than losing her. He didn't care to parse out the meaning behind that; it simply was. Soul didn't try to stop her from training after that, even if he'd still rather curl up on the couch. He'd already proven he'd face far more than exhaustion for her.

While he might not have loved training, Soul did look forward to patrols. He would never openly admit it to Maka, of course—he enjoyed riling her up by bitching about them far too much—but going out and helping people by getting supplies, protecting people by slaying kishin, keeping the perimeter safe, and finding new members for their little settlement—these were things Soul couldn't help but to feel good about. Plus, it was something he got to do with Maka. Patrols were time they spent as a team, relying on and trusting each other just as they had on the road together. It was also during patrols that they resonated, bringing them even closer together. Almost dying, believing they were both dead, that had brought some things into perspective, and being near Maka was what mattered most to him now.

So they patrolled together and lived together, and on their off time he began to introduce her to the movies he had grown up loving, and to share with her memories of his brother; it was, well and truly, one of the happiest times of his life. He also told her his surname, as he had promised himself in the hospital that he would. Maka smiled, insisting that it was a nice name, and he felt his heart clench at the thought that it was now his alone. Sometimes, as they talked and laughed and watched movies, he even forgot that Wes was gone, and that was the best and the worst thing because while it was nice not to feel the ache of his loss, it also tasted bitterly of betrayal. In those moments, Soul had to work hard not to push Maka away out of guilt because he needed her too much for that. Betrayal or not, she was all he had, and fuckitall, Wes wouldn't want him to be alone, would he?

Those bittersweet leisure hours were far less common than the hours they spent working, however. While they weren't always on patrol, much of their time was spent outside the city. Spartoi, their team, was an odd mix, but somehow they managed to work together. There were five in their little group aside from Soul and Maka, five people Soul was trying to bring himself to trust. Of everyone in the group, the Scythe genuinely liked Kilik, who had apparently been among their saviors, though bringing along the Pot Meister's two child-weapons always made Soul nervous. Kilik had found the two children, Fire and Thunder, alone and frightened after the woman who had taken them in discovered they were weapons and abandoned them. Unable to leave them alone to fend for themselves, the young meister had taken responsibility for the two children, and had eventually come to wield them. Soul respected that, but at the same time, he would have felt much better about the team taking on such dangerous tasks if Kilik's weapons weren't so young.

Also part of Spartoi was the odd pair who had clued Soul and Maka in to the existence of Boulder in the first place. They had encountered Ox Ford and his weapon Harvar in a small Massachusetts town months ago, speaking rumors of the Colorado town as a place of peace and prosperity, a place where the remnants of the old order were gathering. Apparently, the lightning Spear Meister and his weapon had also been swayed to follow those rumors to their source. The pair were okay, and while the meister was strange and egotistical, he was competent enough. Unlike Ox, however, his weapon was quiet; when Harvar spoke, it was generally to snark, and Soul couldn't say he blamed the guy—his meister gave him plenty to snark at. The Lightning Spear Meister thought he was the end all and be all of knowledge and power. Oddly, Harvar almost never snarked towards his meister, but hey, it was probably easier not to pick a fight with his partner, and the guy had to let off steam some way being stuck with that asshole.

While they might not all be close friends, the seven members of Spartoi had formed a decent working relationship. The group's missions generally involved hunting out supplies, tracking and killing kishin, or protecting the outlying farmland. Because they were experienced and competent, Spartoi was often assigned the trickier missions in spite of their relative youth. That was, until Azusa sensed the powerful kishin soul on the outskirts of town. Whatever it was had run off when a patrol went to investigate—a highly skilled patrol that included Stein and Spirit. After that, Azusa has insisted that someone with strong Soul Perception remain on duty to keep looking for the intruder. Something dark and powerful was nearby, and Azusa, along with the rest of the Council, wanted it handled. Because Maka was one of a small handful of people in town skilled in Soul Perception, whenever Stein or Azusa or BJ weren't on duty scanning for the encroaching kishin, Spartoi was. Soul found their new duties frustrating since not much really happened on those patrols; their job was to stay close to town. He missed the supply runs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Orders were orders, and they were citizens of Boulder now.

Things changed one night while Spartoi on kishin watch. They were in the east quadrant of the town when Maka sensed something farther east. Something very, very powerful.

"Shouldn't we contact Azusa? Let the Deathscythes handle it?" Ox said, adjusting his glasses.

"If we take the time to go back to HQ, it'll get away," Maka replied firmly. Soul frowned, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"You're sure we can handle this?" He said quietly, just for her.

"Honestly? No." She let out a breath. "But this thing has killed people already. We need to see what it is. We can always run if we have to." Soul didn't want to push it, didn't want to remind her that with Crona, running hadn't been an option. Her guilt was enough without that.

"Is it—"

"Crona?" she supplied. "No, this is different. More sinister, somehow, I don't know." She shook her head. "But it's only one soul; I think it might have been a weapon. And…" she lowered her voice and her hand found his. "We're not alone this time. We'll be okay."

"Okay," he nodded. Ox looked about to protest again, but it was Kilik who cut him off.

"The lady says we go, we go. Azusa put her in charge. Fire? Thunder?" The two children transformed, Harvar and Soul did the same, and together, the group went to face whatever this new threat would hold for them. Soul only hoped that they would be enough.


	6. Assassin

Leaving Las Vegas was the easy part. Tsubaki slunk out of her shared sleeping quarters in Free's establishment in the middle of the night, using the window and being careful and quiet. Years of training in stealth under the tutelage of her parents served her well—she did not wake her roommates, and the patrons and those on duty below were none the wiser. She left a note, the only sign that she had ever been there, hoping that none would discover it until morning when she would be long gone. At least, that was the plan. As it happened, things did not quite go according to plan.

She made it through town without incident, keeping to the shadows, keeping the chain blade morphed from the end of her hair out and ready. Tsubaki made her way into the desert on foot, planning to commandeer some sort of vehicle along the way, a task she did not relish. She picked her path within sight of the road, but not on it, not yet. Best to be careful. She hadn't made it this far for this long in a strange land by being reckless. The chain scythe blade stayed in her hand—she would need to be ready for anything out here, so near to the heart of the Kishin's power where foul things roamed unchecked.

When the dark arm stopped after several hours, resting in the shadow of a rock a few hundred feet from the road, her eyes scanning the horizon lit by moonlight, she could not have expected the voice to be so near, only a dozen feet away, nor to hear him call her name softly. The boy rarely did soft, and yet, he could have sense when the situation called for it. She knew him at once, by his voice and his figure in the moonlight. That he could move as silently as she surprised her, but in hindsight, it probably shouldn't have; the boy had prided himself in being the last of a clan of trained assassins and boasted of his skills. Apparently, it had not only been a boast.

"Black*Star," she breathed, her whisper still painfully loud to her own ears in the quiet of the moonlit night. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought that was my line," he answered, drawing closer and slumping down to lean against the rock beside her. She just shook her head.

"You should go back. You don't belong here."

"And you do?" He scoffed.

"Yes, I do." She sighed, rising from her place against the rock. "Go home, Black*Star."

Tsubaki began to move away and started as the boy grabbed her wrist. She spun to look down at him, but he didn't rise, continuing to hold her firmly.

"What did the letter say? I saw you left one." Unspoken was that he couldn't read. Free had never bothered with such trifles and Black*Star recognized a handful of words and letters at best. Tsubaki sighed and sat back down.

"I just thanked everyone for all you've done for me, and apologized for leaving so abruptly. I explained that I have a task to complete and that it was time for me to leave." Black*Star nodded slowly as if in understanding, but a frown clearly lined his face.

"What do you have to do, Tsubaki? You know I'll help you. Let your god help you." The silence stretched long moments. Finally, she looked at him, meeting his gaze.

"I appreciate your wish to help me, Black*Star, I truly do. But this is my task and mine alone. The man I hunt is dangerous; he has slain many and will slay many more if he is not stopped. I am the one who must show him justice, and I cannot let anyone else take the risk."

"I'm the man who will surpass god," the blue-haired boy flashed her a cocky grin. "There is no risk too big, none I wouldn't take to help my favorite follower. I'm going to help you whether you like it or not, so you may as well learn to like it." He had put his arms up behind his head, relaxing against the rock and looking straight ahead. "So, who is this asshole you're hunting, anyway?"

Tsubaki let out a deep breath. Black*Star was as stubborn as they came; if he had decided to follow her, then she couldn't stop him short of tying him up or killing him, and she wasn't of a mind to do either. It wasn't that she minded the company—not even close—she just didn't want to see him, or anyone, get hurt. Perhaps if she were truthful, if the boy were aware of who it was she hunted, he would change his mind. A part of her hoped he wouldn't; she had enjoyed being among friends with the Immortals, and didn't relish being alone again.

"His name is Masamune." She knew he'd heard of him; she was counting on it. Black*Star let out a low whistle in response.

"You don't do things by halves, do ya, Baki? Masamune is one dangerous mother fucker, no lie. Word around Vegas is the dude wiped out his own family, ate their souls an' everything." Tsubaki couldn't quite suppress a shudder at that, but if her companion noticed, he didn't comment. "But if you need to take him out, then we'll take him out. If I'm gonna surpass god, I suppose a god's assassin is a pretty good place to start, right?"

"Black*Star, I don—" she began to protest again.

"Nah, you don't have to thank me. Just takin' care of my most loyal follower. So, where we off to?" She sighed, not for the first time that night. Giving up trying to dissuade him, accepting that he was now a part of this despite her best efforts, Tsubaki answered.

"Boulder."

"What's that dickwad want there?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I overhead Giriko mention that the Dark Sword had a target there, but he did not say who it was. Nonetheless, it is the best lead I have had by far since I arrived in Las Vegas, so I took it. Masamune must be stopped."

"Boulder, eh?" The boy rose and stretched. "Well, could be worse. I hear they're really gettin' things together up there. May as well check it out. We should probably get going then, right?" She blinked up at him. The assassin boy was strange, boisterous, loyal. She could not be sorry to have him as a companion.

"Yes—yes, of course." She sprang up and began to walk.

"Nah, not that way. Free's got a place near here. Got a jeep an' supplies just in case Vegas ever went ta' shit. We can borrow 'em. He won't mind."

"You're sure?" The Shadow Weapon was skeptical.

"Trust me," he replied with that same cocky grin.

And she did, the old gods help her, she really did.

* * *

Black*Star was true to his word. Free had somehow found an old ranch in the desert surrounding Vegas and stockpiled it with food, gasoline, water, and vehicles. The place was remote enough that the chances of anyone running across it were low, but even still, Free kept a guard there. The man's name was Mifune and he knew Black*Star well. When he and Angela, the little witch he had taken guardianship of, saw the blue-haired boy, they greeted him warmly and let him help himself to whatever he wanted. The tall, blonde samurai asked no questions and Black*Star gave him no answers, but the little witch spoke excitedly to Tsubaki, asking her dozens of questions including some very personal ones about the nature of her and Black*Star's relationship that only a child could ask a stranger without repercussions. Tsubaki tried to answer, but having no wish to relive her past or analyze her relationship with her blue-haired companion just now, she steered the questions to her travels and places she had seen, which the little witch found exciting enough to stop pestering her with queries the Shadow Weapon preferred to avoid. In all, she liked the little girl very much and would have gladly spent some time with her and the samurai both, but as it was, they were in a hurry and their stop lasted only long enough to get together what they needed and go.

The journey to Boulder lasted just over a week. Carefully sticking to old highways and byways in the little jeep, they might have gone faster, but caution was always the better part of valor when traveling. Dangers, potential enemies, could be anywhere, and the roads were both long worn and often obstructed by cars, debris, and the occasional crumbled bridge or overpass. Even under the best conditions, travel was slow of necessity.

During their journey, they alternated between conversation and companionable silence, talking to fill the hours. Tsubaki told him as much as she dared about her upbringing in Japan, leaving out her brother and the fate of their parents, and Black*Star told her more about Free, the Immortals, and the Star Clan, which had been wiped out when he was an infant. He also asked her about being a weapon, what it was like, what she could do. Hers was a family of powerful weapons with old blood and Tsubaki had the unique ability to take multiple weapon forms, an ability coveted by many and generally passed on to only one member per generation. Hers was also a family who rarely took meisters, preferring to train alone and live in relative solitude. Black*Star asked if the weapons of the Nakatsukasa clan ever took meisters. When she answered that yes, it sometimes happened if the weapon felt a meister were worthy, a good person and a good match, Black*Star just nodded and looked at her for a long moment before returning his eyes to the road. Finally, he spoke again. Tsubaki could read him well enough, read the pregnant pause, to know he was considering his words carefully, a rare move for the boy.

"Do you think—I mean, would you mind if—" he let out a frustrated breath. "Could I maybe try to wield you? I was thinking if I could, it might give us a better chance, you know? A god deserves a godly weapon like you; and a godly weapon like you deserves a god to wield her."

Tsubaki colored involuntarily. She hadn't considered the possibility of allowing him to be her meister, hadn't realized he had the potential, but she was more than willing to let him try and she said as much.

"Yosh!" he cried, pumping a fist in the air. "You won't be sorry!" The Shadow Weapon was surprised as the assassin boy suddenly pulled the car to a stop at the roadside. When she blinked at him, he looked at her with a wide grin.

"Let's do this!" He said as he hopped out of the jeep.

"Uh, now? Black*Star, I don't think—"

"Of course now! We need to figure this out and start training! No time like the present, right? Your god is waiting, Tsubaki." He began to tap his foot in mock impatience as she just looked at him, stunned by the boy's impulsiveness. Finally, slowly, she began to climb out of the car and walk towards him. When Black*Star had his mind set, it was easier to argue with a brick wall—at least the wall would crumble if it was hit hard enough.

"Alright!" His enthusiasm was contagious, and as she approached, she couldn't help the small half smile she showed him.

"Transform!" She did, and waited with baited breath to see if he could hold her, let alone wield her. Her worry was for naught. He caught her up easily and began to spin her about with effortless expertise. When she questioned his skill, he just shrugged and explained that part of learning to be a great assassin, as he'd begged Free to train him to be, had been learning to wield a variety of traditional weapons. The chain scythe was merely one. She took all of her forms in turn, and found him equally skilled in each. Black*Star could wield her; he had the skill, and their souls could bond enough to work effectively as weapon and meister. The Shadow Weapon felt a strange sense of relief mingled with a new fear. She had a meister, now. She was no longer in this alone, and Tsubaki couldn't be certain that that was a good thing.

After that, for the next several days, their journey settled into a routine: travel the early morning, stop to eat and train, travel the afternoon, stop to eat and train and rest, and then start again the next day. Training was Tsubaki's favorite part of any given day. Black*Star's skill at wielding her increased with frequent handling, and she enjoyed being close to him. It was nice to have a meister, a real, constant companion and friend. She was discovering new things about him, too. Black*Star had superb control over his own soul, and was able to channel its energy into his bare handed attacks. He was also adept at coming up with new techniques, and as they started to work at Soul Resonance several days in, she was consistently amazed at his creativity in using the power they collectively built to generate potentially deadly attacks. Soul Resonance was uncomfortable for her, in its way, because she felt the need to block off her past—she wasn't ready to share everything yet—but even with her mental block, they were able to resonate at a rate that astonished her, that went against everything she had ever been told about weapon/meister bonds, and she couldn't help but to stand in awe of this boy whose loyalty to her, whose feelings for her, were so strong that he was willing to follow her to hell and back if that was what she needed. By the time they reached Boulder, Tsubaki was well convinced her chances of defeating her brother were much higher with her new meister than without him, and she couldn't help but to be grateful for his presence.

When they finally arrived in the city, the Shadow Weapon wasn't sure how to proceed. Knowing Masamune would be here was one thing, being able to track him down quite another. It took well over a month of keeping to the outskirts of Boulder, of occasional excursions to town and trying to blend in, before they finally got word of him. At least, Tsubaki assumed it was him—what were the odds that another powerful kishin would be stalking the city just now? She knew he was coming to Boulder; it had to be him because if it wasn't, she had no other leads and she must have somehow missed him or misunderstood. She hoped that wasn't the case or they'd have to return to Vegas and start over, and she really didn't relish trying to explain to Free why they'd left.

It would have helped if Tsubaki knew who the target was, which she didn't. It would also have helped if she had some means of detection. Some meisters could use Soul Perception, but while Black*Star was a strong, capable fighter, he had no such capability. It made things more difficult, to be certain, but Tsubaki had a task and she was determined to see it through.

* * *

In the end, finding their target had been mostly a matter of chance. They'd taken to scouting near the outskirts of the city, carefully avoiding the patrols they knew the city itself had launched for similar reason. A combination of Black*Star's uncannily sharp senses and being in the right place at the right time had been their break, and when the meister heard the commotion, noises undetectable to most from a block away, they had sprung into action.

By the time they arrived at the small house, looking down on it from the rooftop of the building across the street, all was silent, yet she knew he was there—even without Soul Perception, the Dark Blade's aura of evil was almost palpable from such a short distance. He was inside the house, just inside, Tsubaki was certain of it. Held tightly in the hands of her meister, she tensed and, feeling her soul seize up, Black*Star looked to her brief reflection in the blade.

"You think it's him?"

"I know it is." Her metallic voice was strained, hard, as she tried to keep it even.

"Alright, then. Let's do this." The blue-haired meister was almost too casual as he flipped off the rooftop and strolled towards the door, and Tsubaki almost winced. Hopefully, she wasn't about to get them both killed.

Black*Star pushed the door open in one swift motion and stepped inside the small house. In different circumstances, Tsubaki might have called the place cozy, with a moderately sized livingroom/kitchen combo covered in plush fabrics. There were pillows everywhere, along with stuffed animals of various kinds and sizes. The would-be assassin boy's gaze swept the interior quickly, alighting on a tall figure just emerging from a small staircase at the edge of the room.

The man, tall, with dark, close cropped hair and eyes that glowed faintly red, was wearing jeans and a t-shirt underneath a canvas military style jacket. Tsubaki almost didn't recognize him without the traditional garb she was accustomed to, but his face was unmistakable—she had found her brother.

The darkness that rolled off of him in waves made her shudder involuntarily just before she transformed. Black*Star looked surprised at the move, but said nothing; this was her show and he was willing to let her do what she must. The Shadow Weapon was quietly grateful to her now meister as she took a step closer to her brother, standing in a small patch of light cast by the dying late afternoon sun.

"Ah, the scentless flower," Masamune's face spread into a cruel smile as his gaze lit on his sister. "What brings you so far across the ocean, Tsubaki-chan?" He spoke in lightly accented English and Tsubaki frowned at him.

"I see you have lost the old ways, brother," she responded in their native tongue. He tilted his head to one side, the cruel smile never leaving his face.

"When in Rome, as they say." He still spoke English. "Speak, dress, do."

"And kill," she said quietly, also in English.

"Especially kill." His smile became almost feral.

"You know why I am here." She kept her tone even, her Japanese formal.

"I have a good guess, little sister, but really, as much as I'd love to catch up and play with my favorite flower, I have better things to do." He made to move past them and Tsubaki cried, "Black*Star!" as she transformed. The blue-haired meister caught up her Chain Scythe form and launched himself towards the Dark Blade. The man laughed and raised a hand, shadows emerging from the ground to hurl the meister back.

"I thought I said I had no time to play," he said, tsking and shaking his head. "What I seek is not in Boulder, unfortunately, but the fool who used to live here gave me quite the juicy lead. Perhaps another time." He laughed, dark chuckles rolling into full, body shaking mirth as his body began to—melt was the only way Tsubaki could understand it—into the shadows before disappearing, only the laughter lingering in the air for an instant before even that vanished. The aura of darkness had disappeared; Masamune was gone. Tsubaki transformed again, shaking her head in disbelief. The waves of self-loathing radiated from her stomach.  _She had let him get away._  She had let him get away, and now she had no good way to find him again. She collapsed to her knees, continuing to shake her head in grief. She had failed.

Tsubaki felt strong arms surrounding her, allowed them to help her to her feet and sweep her into an embrace, before the door burst open in a clatter of commotion. Even in her current state of despair, instinct drove her and she transformed in a flash of light into her meister's waiting hands, his battle stance unmistakable as they faced whatever new threat had come upon them.

The group that rushed into the house was an odd one. That they were weapons and meisters was clear, but other than that, the young Scythe wielding girl in a schoolgirl's outfit, the muscular boy with the confident air, and the lanky Spear Meister with ridiculously spiked hair and horn rimmed glasses did not seem to fit together at all. Black*Star actually started to chuckle, then guffaw as the group eyed them wearily from near the entranceway, weapons at the ready. The blue-haired meister raised one hand to request pause even as he doubled over in laughter, the group in the doorway staring at him with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and suspicion, the blonde girl with pigtails actually shaking her head at the spectacle as she said something quietly to her weapon that Tsubaki could not quite hear over her meister's alternate laughter and gasping for air. Finally, after several moments, the boy forced himself to calm, standing up straight, though a grin was still plastered on his face.

"So you guys are, what, the welcome wagon? Not much of a greeting for a god. Little late, too." He managed a shrug of disappointment, the smile finally flattening. "You should probably put those toys down," Black*Star motioned with the one end of Tsubaki's weapon form towards the other weapons, "before someone gets hurt."

They seemed to ignore his words, the other two instead looking to the blonde in the middle. The Shadow Weapon guessed she must somehow be in charge.

"It's not them," she said after a moment. "And I don't think they're dangerous." She leveled her gaze on Black*Star. "Stupid, maybe, but not dangerous. We should check it out. I'm pretty sure that new Deathscythe who returned from Vegas took a house around here." The pigtailed meister turned her eyes on the Spear Meister, motioning upstairs. "Ox, Harvar—go see what's up there. I don't sense anyone, but the kishin was here and we want to make sure there were no victims." The other meister seemed about to protest, but must have thought better of it, because he just shook his head and made his way towards the stairs. The blonde then turned to the remaining meister. "Kilik, look around down here. I'm going to see what's up with these two."

"Got it, chief," the boy in question said as he began searching the room.

The girl then turned her head to look to her Scythe. "Soul? I don't think they're a threat. They could have attacked any time, and I sense no ill intent in their wavelengths." The Scythe didn't respond, but in a flash of light was replaced by a lanky teenager, his stark hair faintly pink in the late afternoon half light streaming in through the windows.

"So," the girl looked back to Black*Star. "Mind telling us what happened here?" Black*Star, who had never responded well to authority, smiled.

"Can't see how that's any of your business, pigtails. If you aren't going to fight, then I suggest you move out of the way. We've got shit to do."

"It's our business as part of the Boulder patrol." The blonde meister's tone suggested she would brook no nonsense. Tsubaki took that as her cue—if this girl was leaving her weapon exposed in human form, then she would not likely attack. The Shadow Weapon transformed and stood beside her meister.

"There was a kishin here, you are right," the dark arm cut in, looking at the other woman and schooling her face into careful neutrality. "But he's gone."

"What happened?" the blonde repeated.

"We really do not know," Tsubaki said with a small sigh. "When we got here, there was a kishin, but he left shortly after, fading into the shadows. Then your group arrived. What happened before that, I cannot say."

"So he was here," the blonde mused, seemingly about to say more before being cut off by the blue-haired meister.

"She just said that, flatty. Ya got a hearing problem or somethin'?" The blonde girl's eyes narrowed, her gaze becoming dangerous. She seemed to reach behind her but before she could grab whatever it was she sought, her weapon growled in warning.

"Maka—don't."

She huffed in frustration, but nodded, looking again to Tsubaki. The girl had apparently deemed the Shadow Weapon to be the more reasonable party.

"What was it like?"

"He's a Dark Sword," Tsubaki responded honestly. There was no reason not to, at this point. Her brother was gone. "His name is Masamune." The blonde, her weapon had called her Maka, gasped at that, and the weapon himself let out a low whistle.

"Asura's assassin was here?" Tsubaki just nodded and grabbed Black*Star's arm with a light squeeze before he could say anything mocking.

"What did he want?" Tsubaki shook her head in response. She didn't know. She wished she did, but there was nothing more she could tell the pigtailed meister. Nothing helpful, anyway. Before Maka could say anything else, there were footsteps on the stairs and the Spear Meister and his weapon reappeared. He caught Maka's eye, waving her over.

"I think you guys should see this," the boy said quietly as the Scythe Meister and her weapon approached. The Pot Meister had also come nearer, though he kept a wary eye on Tsubaki and Black*Star. "Tezca Tlipoca…" he trailed off, visibly shaken. "We need to bring in Azusa and the Council."

"I'll go," the brawny meister with the two large gauntlets for weapons offered.

"Thank you, Kilik," Maka responded, then looked to the Spear Meister. "Watch these two while we go look." The girl moved to walk past, but the other meister caught her arm.

"It's… it's not pretty," he said, a soft warning. She nodded, her weapon subtly taking her hand in his own as they made their way up the stairs. Black*Star had been blissfully silent, probably because Tsubaki had kept her hand on his shoulder in warning and he was capable of listening to her when he chose to do so. He looked at her now in question and she called out.

"Wait!" The two half way up the staircase paused, looking down to the group.

"I… could I see? I… need to see."

Maka and her Scythe exchanged a look, then Maka nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I don't see the harm," she said. "Come on, then."

The group made their way upstairs in a nervous line, the two who had been before following from a short distance. Maka looked back questioningly, and the meister she had called Ox gestured to a slightly open door in the middle of the hall. Responding with a small nod, the blonde meister took the few steps to the door and pushed it open, her free hand immediately flying to her face with a gasp. Tsubaki noticed that the white-haired weapon tightened his grip on his meister's other hand and let out a long breath of his own. When the Shadow Weapon finally made it to the doorway herself, she instantly understood.

Tsubaki did not react, remained stock still with her face devoid of emotion. There was blood everywhere, a body torn apart, and a large bear mask split nearly in half lying in one corner, saturated in blood. It was a slaughter, another murder at the hands of her own flesh and blood. She balled her hand into a fist slowly, in anger, in despair, even as she felt her meister's hand on her shoulder, felt his soft, firm squeeze of comfort. This… this was what she had to stop.

The blonde meister and her weapon made their way past them and out the door, her face set in an emotionless mask, his in one of bored disinterest, but their interlocked fingers, their previous actions, they could not lie. They were shaken. Maka turned at the door.

"We'll need you to come back to headquarters for questioning," she said, looking from Tsubaki to Black*Star and back. Black*Star seemed about to protest, but Tsubaki just nodded. The sooner they did what these people wanted, the sooner she could get back to hunting down her brother because, she vowed silently, earnestly, this must never, never be allowed to happen again.


	7. An Impossible Task

Maka hadn't expected things to fall out quite this way. After taking Tsubaki and Black*Star (for it turned out those were their names,) back to see the Council, Spartoi had been summarily dismissed as the two newcomers were taken in for questioning. Maka and her team would not be debriefed until the next day, and even then, it seemed cursory. It had troubled her then—it still did. The Council was hiding something, something big, that much was certain; Maka couldn't help but to want to know what.

Eager to solve what she saw as a particularly bothersome puzzle, the Scythe Meister took to asking questions, yet she received no real answers. Time and again, she was told that the Council was handling things without being offered further details. She had no idea what had happened or what was going on, and it frustrated her. She had even sunk so low as to go to her Papa, but while he had gushed over how happy he was to see her and had even paid lip service to telling her anything she wanted to know, Spirit had conveniently sidestepped every question she asked. She'd left fuming; she should have known better than to go to him for help. Council or not, father or not, he was still the man who had abandoned her. She wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him, and even in Scythe form, that had never been far.

There were other things on her mind as well—things that helped to distract her from her annoyance at the situation surrounding that last mission. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Training had become all consuming; she couldn't let what had happened to Soul ever happen again. Maka hadn't been strong enough to stand against Crona, not then, but she would get strong enough, even if it killed her, because she couldn't lose Soul. She had already lost her father, the sting of his abandonment still strong. In the months since she had met her weapon, snarky and apathetic as he was, he had become her best friend, the most important thing in her life. When she had almost lost him, something inside of her broke, and she'd realized that in a very real way, Soul was her world now. Without him, she had nothing. So she would protect him with everything that she was, and to do that, she had to be stronger.

Their training had begun some time ago, even before they started to take missions. Once Soul was strong enough, whenever they had down time, Maka had insisted they train. Now that they were getting no missions, it was all she could think to do, and she pushed them to work harder and longer. But then she noticed how exhausted he seemed and wondered if the training was too much for him. Her weapon slept so little lately that she was becoming increasingly concerned, but every time she brought it up, asked him what was wrong, suggested he talk to Stein about his insomnia, Soul waved her off. He was fine, he insisted, she shouldn't worry. She was thinking too much, as usual, and hey, she wasn't looking so good herself since she never took a damned break anymore—it wasn't good for people to spend every second of every day either fighting, reading, or training. Then it was her turn to wave him off, and she decided to train alone, hoping it would help him to get some rest while still helping her to get stronger.

Maka asked to train with Stein, who was hailed by most as the strongest meister in Boulder, and found herself improving in a few short days. The break didn't help Soul, and as the dark circles under his eyes deepened, so did her worry. The fight with Crona had changed him, and this sleeplessness, this exhaustion, had her more than nervous. The Scythe Meister wished she knew how to help her weapon, tried to comfort him with small gestures like making his favorite foods or giving him the occasional random hug or unexpected squeeze to the shoulder. She had even taken to offering him backrubs to help him sleep, reveling in the closeness they shared in those moments. She tried not to think too deeply about what that meant; she had enough on her plate already, like trying to get stronger, figuring out what was going on with the Council, avoiding the red-headed asshole who had abandoned her, and above all, staying alive.

A week after the incident with Black*Star and Tsubaki, Spartoi received their first normal assignment in some time. It was clear that whatever was going on, they were never going to be in the loop, so Maka took out her frustration on the few unlucky kishin they ran into during routine reconnaissance. They all did. None of them were happy being in the dark, none happy to have been told nothing of the slaughter they had only just missed. Of Black*Star and Tsubaki there was no word. Soul tried to reassure her that it didn't matter, sensing, perhaps, her need to be reassured, but it didn't help; she could feel his own mistrust of the situation in his wavelength.

When they returned from their mission, Maka hoped they'd get another right away. Boulder was feeling less and less like home as she and her team felt more and more like unwitting pawns in some larger game. If they were going to be pawns, she for one would rather be in play where she had some measure of control.

But the real surprise, the thing that Maka could not have guessed at, was when the group was called to headquarters after their latest mission. The entire Council was in attendance, which was unusual enough—normally one member gave them orders or debriefed them—but what truly unnerved her was the presence of the blue-haired meister and his weapon. At first, she thought that meant that Spartoi would finally be brought into the fold, would finally learn the truth of the massacre they had stumbled upon, but that turned out to be a false hope. As the group filed in and stood before the town oligarchy, Azusa cleared her throat, looking to each in turn before settling her gaze on Maka.

"Your group did well on this latest mission, I hear. Good work, as usual," she began, her eyes sharp but her face a mask of neutrality. "Spartoi has been so successful that we have decided to strengthen your team. We have some…" Maka was disturbed by the uncharacteristic pause from the generally no nonsense Gunbow "…longer and more complex tasks in mind for your group in the near future, and we want to be sure you are well prepared. As a result, Black*Star and his weapon Tsubaki will be joining your squad. You will remain in charge, Maka, but I urge you to treat the two as equal members of your team. They will make strong additions."

The pigtailed meister blinked at the Council leader and had to stop herself from shaking her head. Still no answers, and now they were being thrown together with the two who were somehow tied to the center of it all. Maka wanted details, needed to know what was going on. No better time than now to find out.

"What sort of longer mission can we expect to face? I think it best we have some idea if we are to prepare properly."

"You will be informed when it becomes necessary." That older woman shut down her inquiry immediately. "For now, the situation is delicate. The most important thing is for your team to take in these new members and learn to work together—" she was cut off by the blue-haired meister, who looked at Maka with a cocky grin.

"Don't worry, pigtails. We got this. With me on your side, you can sit back and relax because I'm the new star of this team! Yahoo!" Maka just shook her head in disbelief as the other meister beamed at her, one fist pumping triumphantly in the air even as his weapon silently squeezed his other shoulder, though whether it was in warning or solidarity she could not tell from the tall woman's placid expression. Azusa resumed as if she had not been interrupted.

"Well, now that that's settled, you are all dismissed." Spirit cleared his throat beside her, and she nodded in recognition, though of what was unclear. "Why don't you all get to know one another? We will have your next assignment to you soon enough. I would encourage you all to take advantage of the off time. Good day."

The dismissal firm, Spartoi shuffled out of the room, clearly confused by the whole affair, the new duo in tow. Maka couldn't decide what bothered her most about the meeting—the silence of the rest of the Council, their unwillingness to tell them anything, or being saddled with new teammates when she was just starting to trust the old ones. In any case, Azusa was right: if they had to work as a team, it really was best if they got to know each other. Maka was in charge, that much had been clearly reaffirmed, so it was up to her to bring her team together.

Once they were out of the Council room (really just a mid sized meeting room in one of the old downtown business buildings that had been claimed as headquarters,) the Scythe Meister turned to the rest of Spartoi, her focus on Tsubaki and Black*Star.

"Why don't we all go back to mine and Soul's house. We can have lunch and maybe watch a movie—" She felt Soul's hand on her shoulder and gave him a brief, questioning look. His eyes flicked pointedly to Black*Star and she got the message: were they really ready to have this guy in their house? It was a fair point. "—or we could play some basketball or go to The Warehouse," she shifted gears quickly.

"Yosh! Basketball! Bring it ON, pigtails!"

Basketball it was. And so, over a game of hoops, they had begun to get to know their new teammates.

* * *

It took more than just basketball for Black*Star and Tsubaki to become a real part of Spartoi. After a heated game (Black*Star, Maka, and Harvar beat Kilik, Tsubaki, and Soul—Ox and the twins sat out,) came a meal at one of the few small communal dining halls around town. Over the course of that meal and several to follow, they discovered that the Black*Star had come from Vegas of all places, the den of sin and Asura. He was a loud mouth, an idiot half the time, but he was also strong and determined and clearly devoted to his weapon, and in spite of his brash exterior, Maka was building a quiet respect for his loyalty and skill. She also saw how well Soul seemed to like the other meister even as he scoffed at his idiocy to Maka; seeing her generally aloof and suspicious weapon make a new friend had her smiling, and she silently thanked whatever fate had brought the blue-haired meister to them. After the loss of his brother, with their fight with Crona still clearly haunting him, Soul needed all the friends he could get.

Black*Star's weapon, Tsubaki, was tall, dark, and Japanese. The Shadow Weapon was both beautiful and deadly, but she was also cheerful and friendly, if somewhat quiet. Maka liked her very much and found it something of a relief to have another woman on the team, even if that woman made her look like a little boy by comparison. The newcomers made a strange combination to be sure, but their affection for one another was obvious and Maka found herself increasingly glad they had joined their team, even if they sometimes caused her headaches.

The real test of the new group came on their first mission together several days later. It was not the mission promised—Stein informed them that the Council would have orders for that soon, but that they were still "working out the kinks," as he put it. Instead, it was a standard supply run, with standing orders to take out any manageable kishin within range. Their destination was called Tri-Lakes, three small towns packed together on the mountainside just north of the old Air Force Academy, less than 100 miles south of Boulder. The Academy itself had long since been thoroughly plundered by Boulder patrols, and now they were making their way to some of the outlying areas. The heart of the area they were supposed to search was Palmer Lake, a picturesque little mountain town, a bit off the highway but still easily accessible; it was a gold mine of old canned goods and other necessities, as were most such places. Nestled on the mountainside and criss crossed by dirt roads, houses, and quaint shops and restaurants, it was the type of place Maka thought must once have been nice to live in, the type she sometimes read about in books, full of close neighbors and laughter. It was a desolate place now, an overgrown, crumbling reminder of all that they had lost, a place being slowly but surely reclaimed by nature, as was most of their world.

They had traveled down paths well worn by Boulder patrols to get to the town, so no kishin had been forthcoming on their journey. Yet, so close to the feast that the forests could provide such creatures, Maka finally sensed enemies as Spartoi rifled through the third house that morning. The group, following her lead, sped off to confront the threat, trusting the pigtailed meister when she insisted the enemies were well within their capabilities to handle.

The pair of kishin stood at the edge of what must have once been the lake, but was now more a patch of mud and grass, stalking a mountain lion that had stopped to drink at a small pool of water that was either the remains of the last snowfall that had melted in the unseasonably warm weather of the past week, or else, some remnant of the spring that had likely once fed this lake. As the tawny creature lapped at the water languidly in the brisk early winter air, the two misshapen things silently stalked forward, circling around to surround the big cat with a speed and agility that seemed foreign to such grotesque forms. The predator was about to become the prey and, confident in its dominance here so near its hunting grounds, didn't even notice the approaching danger. The kishin were massive, hulking things, moving quickly on two legs, grey, spiky and mean looking.

Maka was about to signal to hold back and attack once they were distracted with tearing apart their prey when she heard a shout of "Yahoooooo!" and saw the blue-haired meister bound in, Tsubaki at the ready in her Chain scythe form. The mountain lion looked up quickly at the sound and, seeing the humans and monsters alike, bolted in the gap left by the kishin. The kishin themselves had only time to snarl before Black*Star was on them, swinging the chain out wide to slice through one before dodging and performing a dazzling flip to land behind it and kick out forcefully, knocking it to the ground on its face. As the thing tried to get up, Black*Star came in with a punch that made not just Maka, but all of them, gasp. His hand glowed and the blow struck with such force that the creature dissolved before them, leaving only a tainted soul. The entire group was struck dumb, simply watching the blue-haired menace as he spun about to face the other enemy, who had thought to sneak up on him while he was distracted.

"YOU DARE TRY TO ATTACK A GOD FROM BEHIND?" the meister bellowed. "Tsubaki, ninja star mode!"

"Right!" the Shadow Weapon replied, and in a flash of light, Black*Star held a gigantic Throwing Star where once had been a Chain Scythe. He swung it around as the creature charged, throwing it to cut the thing in two. That kishin, too, disappeared, leaving only a tainted red orb behind. Black*Star turned to face the group as Tsubaki transformed behind him, cocking one hand on his hip.

"Well?" he looked over his companions. "Are you ready to bow before your god now?"

The stunned members of Spartoi, having been transfixed into inaction by the sheer spectacle before them, exchanged confused glances before there was a laugh. It came from Soul, and Maka looked to him and laughed as well. It was comical. It was ridiculous. Yet, it was reality. This ridiculously strong, heedless idiot, this was their new teammate. And the idiot was proclaiming himself a god. A GOD. Well, the pigtailed meister reasoned, at least he could fight. The others joined in, and soon all of Spartoi was breathless with mirth. Black*Star looked affronted, his other hand finding his free hip as he eyed the group with a frown.

"HEY! What's so funny?" Maka burst out into another fit of giggles at how comical the other meister looked staring them all down, in stark contrast with his weapon, who was red with embarrassment, eyes downcast. Soul struggled next to his meister, wheezing in gulps of air to try to say something.

"Y..y…you, dude. YOU." He managed as he practically choked on his own guffaws.

Black*Star eyed the group seriously for a few minutes, perplexed, causing the laughter to increase once more. Finally, he shook his head and offered a half shrug.

"These people are weirdos," he murmured to Tsubaki, words Maka just barely caught through her own now dying giggles.

"Well," he spoke up, motioning to Tsubaki to take care of the souls as he stepped towards the group. "Now that your god has taken care of business, don't we have shit to do?" He looked directly as Maka, who found her laughter dying off at the quick change. This guy really was strange.

"Uh, right. Come on guys. Let's see what else we can find." With Maka's orders, Spartoi moved back to pilfering supplies, but after that moment, the strange meister and his quiet weapon somehow felt like a part of their group, and god complex or not, reckless or not, Black*Star and Tsubaki made the team more whole.

* * *

A few missions later and the group really was a team. Once she had figured out that the Star was driven by pure ego and had the skills to back his claim, it wasn't hard to set him on the most obvious tasks, and he would generally perform and perform well. Maka could equally count on him to deal with the biggest kishin or hunt down a large supply of canned goods, because both tasks allowed him to proclaim his mighty godhood. More tricky was getting him to listen to intricate plans, or to tone down his actions when a mission required stealth. She was still learning how to manage him in those situations, but in all, things were working out well enough and she understood why the Council had seen fit to add these two to their number. Less clear was the motivations of the pair themselves; they were rather tight lipped about why they had come to Boulder, which Maka found frustrating, but she hoped they would reveal their hand in time.

When Spartoi was finally called in front of the whole Council again a few weeks after gaining their new teammates, Maka could not be surprised—after all, she had been warned that they had some sort of grand mission in mind for the group. What did surprise her was the mission itself. Standing in that same Council room in front of the assembled elders, she stifled a gasp as she heard the pronouncement.

"Spartoi's next mission is to find Lord Shinigami," the Gunbow said, looking down on the group with the same unreadable expression she always wore, the same expression she was known for. Maka looked Azusa in the eyes, her gaze level as she felt the tension and confusion in the souls of her teammates and the strange resolve of the Council members themselves. Even her father felt determined, if conflicted. But it made no sense! The woman had just told her that Spartoi was being charged with doing the impossible. She had just told them, beyond all rhyme or reason, that her group,  _her group_  of all people, were supposed to find a long dead god.

"I am sorry, Lady Azusa, but I must not have heard you right. Even the Shinigami himself, when he lived, could not raise the dead, and now he is among them. We cannot find a god who no longer exists."

There was a pause as Azusa stared at her, her face remaining unreadable. Finally, she nodded.

"Of course we do not ask you to find a dead god, but a living demi god. We ask you to find Lord Death's son." Maka felt her jaw drop of its own accord, could sense the surprise of her teammates around her.

"His...what? That isn't...He couldn't...He didn't….did he?" she sputtered.

"He could and he did," Azusa replied matter of factly. "Few are aware of this. Only those weapons and meisters left at Shibusen when it all fell apart knew, most of whom are in this room, but right before he died, Lord Death expelled a fragment of himself into the world, one immune to the plague unleashed by Medusa. He ordered the infant to be taken and raised up to replace him when the time came. It has been two decades—the time has come." Maka knew her jaw had dropped further, dropped almost to the floor. She thought she knew everything there was to know about Shibusen, yet her father had never told her this. Her gaze strayed accusingly to him for a moment, and he pointedly looked at his hands, the guilt in his soul palpable. Her teammates remained silent, unwilling or unable to speak. She looked back to Azusa and shook her head, was about to voice her confusion, when someone beat her to it.

"That's why you want Spartoi," the voice she heard was low and dangerous. Soul's voice. "You need Maka, need her Soul Perception to find him, don't you? But why not one of you? BJ or Azusa or Stein?"

"Because Asura will expect that." This came from the doctor, ever the strategist. "We are needed closer to home. If Asura is sending Masamune here, he won't stop at one attack. He will send others, and soon. He'll watch our leadership for signs of where to strike, and when he finds such signs, he will strike hard."

"That makes no sense," Maka heard Tsubaki say from beside her and was surprised that the shy Shadow Weapon had spoken at all. "Masamune said that what he wanted was not here. Why, then, do you concern yourselves with him? He will not attack Boulder again, of that I am certain. "

"It isn't him we're worried about," Spirit spoke up. "Masamune was just the beginning. We have good information that Asura will continue to make moves against us, and soon; we need to prepare, to defend—"

"—and to throw the Kishin off from his real goal," Stein cut in.

"Which is what, exactly, because you all seem to be talking in fucking circles without getting to the point," Soul interrupted with barely contained frustration. Maka would have chopped him for swearing at the Council if she weren't so close to doing so herself.

"The Shinigami," Azusa spoke again, eyeing the group sternly. "Same as you."

"But—" Maka began, unsure, even, what she wanted to say. She was surprised when Tsubaki cut her off.

"How will this lead to Masamune?" The Shadow Weapon's voice was low and dangerous.

"Because we believe that finding and eliminating the Shingami is the Dark Sword's goal. Tezca Tlipoca had been looking for the fragment for years, and he finally had a lead. Masamune left because of information he got from the Demon Mirror. That he, too, seeks the Shinigami is the only logical conclusion." The Gunbow's voice was even more stern than was her custom. She was clearly becoming annoyed with their questions.

"That still doesn't explain why you're sending Spartoi to do this," Maka couldn't help the frustration from slipping into her voice. "As Soul said, I'm not the only one who has Soul Perception, and it seems like a Deathscythe would be more suited to dealing with someone like Masamune."

"True. Which is what Asura will believe as well," Stein smiled down at her coldly. "He will have eyes looking for us. He won't be looking for you, which is why your group is the right choice. Masamune will be looking as well," his gaze shifted pointedly to Tsubaki, then back to Maka, "and it is imperative that you find the fragment first and protect the new Shinigami at all costs. We need the fragment to stand up against Asura, and it is your job to find him." Before Maka could protest again, Stein looked to Spirit, who nodded.

"We have an idea of where he might be. Stein and I will fill you in on the details, if you wouldn't mind following us." Spirit stood, followed by Stein, while the rest remained seated.

"Don't worry!" she heard Black*Star's too-loud voice proclaim. "Your god will take care of this!"

Ignoring the other meister's typical idiocy, Maka swept her gaze over the Council chamber. Marie, who had remained silent, looked unhappy, and Maka could read the trepidation in her soul. Azusa showed no emotion in soul or countenance, and BJ felt almost hopeful and looked the same. The mix of reactions was disconcerting and Maka couldn't help but to feel that they were getting in far, far over their heads. The very idea that there was a Shinigami anymore, let alone that he could be found, was absurd, yet this was their mission. Maka might have laughed if she didn't felt like crying, but did neither, shifting her gaze ahead of her as she followed Stein and her father out of the room. They'd been given a task, an impossible task, and somehow she felt this could not end well. These things never really did.


	8. Finding Shinigami

Soul was stretched out on their living room couch, watching  _The Terminator_  for what must have been the forty-seventh time in his young life. He had taken to watching movies a lot lately since he found himself wanting to sleep less and less. The Oni that invaded his soul featured in his dreams far too often for him to get anything even resembling real rest most nights. Movies allowed him to zone out and recharge without sleeping, which helped, though he probably still looked terrible if Maka's constant show of concern was any indication. Well, better her nagging than having to deal with that god-awful demon every night. When Soul passed out from utter exhaustion, he had found, the demon was less likely to make an appearance, which was all he wanted.

As the Scythe paid half attention to the television, the noise of the current action scene helping to mask the sounds of Maka furiously packing in her room, he was slightly startled when he noticed her standing over his place on the couch, fists on her hips.

"'Da fuck?" he said as he bolted up to face her, simultaneously clicking pause on the remote.

"I could ask the same thing."

She sounded annoyed. As Soul had come to learn the hard way, Maka was dangerous when annoyed. He rubbed his head at the very thought of it.

"What? I'm watchin' a movie."

"And there's nothing else you should be doing?" Her annoyance was rising, her mouth a flat line as she finished her question.

"Nope," he replied blithely, extending his hands behind his head as he smirked up at her. "Already packed. Just waitin' on you, princess."

"You…are?" She seemed surprised, almost puzzled.

"Of course. Didn't think I'd just be lazing about here if I weren't, now did ya?" Soul put on an expression of mock hurt while waving over at the mid-sized duffle by the door that was stuffed haphazardly with his things. In truth, it wasn't like there was much to pack. Extra clothes, a few toothbrushes, some soap, his ipod and solar charger, a sleeping bag, and a pillow. What more could he need?

"That's…it?"

"Yep. Can't fit much more on the bike anyway."

"Oh," she let out a breath of something like relief. "We're not taking the bike. Too cold, too long a trip. We're riding with Star and Tsubaki in their jeep." He was shaking his head before she even finished.

"No—no way. We take the bike. No way I trust our lives to that moron. He'll probably drive us off a bridge."

"It's the middle of winter, Soul, and we're driving to Minnesota. There's no way we can take the bike. It's too cold, and too dangerous in the snow for this kind of trip."

"But—"

"No, Soul. We're going in the jeep. Don't worry, we'll take turns driving. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go finish packing. You should, too." He glared up at her, but her annoyance was edging into anger, so he kept his mouth shut as she stomped off into her room. It wasn't that he didn't know she was right, anyway—it was just that he had never been without the bike, not since leaving the cabin. It was the biggest thing he had left of his former life, and leaving it behind felt too much like leaving Wes behind, too.

Resigning himself to the change, the Scythe hauled himself up and over to the duffle, toeing it absently. There wasn't really anything else to bring, so he opened it and shifted the contents a bit just to make it look like he was doing something useful, adding a few bags of jerky and some cans of beans as an afterthought before zipping it shut once more. Soul then slunk quietly over to the door of Maka's room, leaning against the frame and watching as she moved frantically about, removing things from drawers or piles only to toss most aside, then finally settle on something to add to her oversized, overstuffed duffle. Soul snorted quietly as she grabbed and tried to stuff in that one final blanket, straining to close a zipper that simply could not contain the mass of material that had been shoved into the poor bag. Maka looked up from her task and narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

"Just thought you might want some help since I'm done."

"I'm fine," she snapped, moving her attention back down to the bulging bag for a moment, before shifting her gaze back up. "Actually, we should probably pack the first aid kit." She eyed her own bag skeptically. "Think you can get it in yours?"

"No problem," he said and moved away, leaving her to struggle with the bag. She would figure out that the extra blanket was just that bit too much soon enough, but until then, the image of her trying to force the poor thing shut made him chuckle again as he made his way to retrieve their first aid kit.

"I heard that!" she shouted from her room and his chuckle flowered into a full blown laugh. Yeah, he was probably going to get chopped later, but he couldn't help but to feel that it was worth it. Teasing his meister usually was.

* * *

Hours later, they were on their way. Listening to his ipod as he looked out at the landscape flying by on the empty back road, he couldn't help but to wonder what the fuck they were doing. Stein and Spirit had further explained, when they were all cozy in a smaller room, that Tezca had narrowed down possible locations where the new Shinigami could be to three places, and of the three, Wisconsin seemed most likely. They couldn't be positive just what the Dark Blade had learned from the Demon Mirror, but they had to assume he knew all and would be headed for the same locale. Yet, Masamune did not have Soul Perception—he would be operating blind, not knowing how to pinpoint what he sought. They had Maka, and as Stein had explained, her Soul Perception was so highly attuned that they believed it to be the best of their surviving group. While the area they had to search was wide, her Perception was keen enough that they believed she could find what they were looking for. Trouble was, as she had explained to Soul in frustration later, she didn't know exactly what she was looking for herself. How would a Shinigami soul be different? She really had no idea and hoped she would know it when she saw it. Soul was just troubled that they had placed so much on his meister's shoulders. She always felt her responsibility for others so heavily; it was part of what he loved so much about her.

Yeah, he could admit that. He loved her. How could he not? She was strong, beautiful, brave, selfless. Okay, and violent, and moody, and heedless, and a total nerd—but she was all he had, and at this point, all he wanted. Maybe he'd even get up the nerve to tell her all that sometime soon. Maybe. Because, he could also admit, even if it was completely uncool, that he was a coward when it came to this, too afraid to lose her, too afraid his feelings weren't shared. If she rejected him, he'd lose everything. He'd rather be her friend, her partner, her weapon for the rest of his life than push her away because he couldn't hold his tongue like some stupid teenager with a crush in one of those old movies. Now was hardly the time, anyway. Because they had a Shinigami to find, and if he knew Maka, and at this point he'd say he knew her pretty well, she wouldn't give up until they found the god or died trying.

The odd part was that finding the Shinigami was not difficult so much as it was tedious. Traveling to Minnesota in the snow, with the occasional need to backtrack when a route became impassible, they reached Sioux City in just over a week, and then, began weaving their way east and north slowly, Maka scanning for any signs of life. They found a small settlement at what had once been Grand Rapids and tried to get any leads they could, but with no luck. Grand Rapids yielding them nothing, they moved north, wandering the wilderness in the uppermost regions for weeks, finding the occasional kishin to slay, but few other signs of intelligent life. Travel in the thickly snowed north was slow going and miserable, but they kept at it, using chains on their tires to move through the thick snow, finding shelter in long abandoned dwellings, digging out when they got stuck, and seeking other paths when the one they had chosen was impassible, which was often enough.

The journey itself was becoming exhausting, the group fraying at the seams with the frustration of it. Ox challenged Maka's leadership more frequently, setting the entire group on edge, and Black*Star was becoming increasingly unmanageable as the tedious drudgery of the search began to wear on him. Maka ordered the occasional day of rest just to keep the group together, to keep them from imploding. On those days, they sometimes did separate things, needed to do separate things-—read, played music, anything or everything that kept their minds off the task at hand and kept them sane. But on other days, they came together and did things as a group. Basketball wasn't a great option in the snow, so on those days they tended to play games, and board games were an automatic crowd favorite.

It was an odd thing. Soul had grown up playing a handful of boardgames with Wes, but they both had spent more of their leisure time with the television and the stereo than anything. However, the Scythe had quickly discovered that in an outside world where electricity was rare and precious, where most his age had never even seen a working TV, board games were an insanely popular pastime. He and Wes actually used to pick up such games in their travels in the abandoned structures they raided for food, sometimes able to trade them for necessities in the towns they passed through. It had been Wes' idea to do it and it worked very, very well; most of their good ideas had come from Wes, who was smart with a good feel for other people. Or at least, he had been. So, when the members of Spartoi were enthusiastic about games, it hardly surprised Soul. And that they were absolutely merciless when playing them shouldn't have surprised him either, yet it did. Actually, stunned would have been the better word; you would think they were playing a game with a room full of kishin instead of their teammates and friends with how some of them acted.

The worst game had been Monopoly. With so many people, they played in pairs, and since Maka was all about weapon-meister bonds, the weapon-meister teams were gaming teams as well. This matched the cutthroat with the couldn't care less and generally made for an—interesting experience, to say the least. The game would typically be dominated by the meisters, particularly Maka, Black*Star, and Ox, who were at constant odds, willing to do whatever it took to win. Their weapon partners tended to stay in the background, Soul offering the occasional suggestion, rare plea for Maka to calm down, or well-timed snarky comment when things got too ridiculous, which they invariably did. Harvar, on the other hand, only occasionally snarked while also subtly egging his meister on, and Tsubaki was constantly trying to placate Black*Star to keep him from doing or saying something stupid. Only Kilik seemed above it all, playing through with calm ruthlessness, occasionally laughing at the antics of the others while simultaneously making sure that the twins were occupied in a game of go-fish—they were really too young to have much attention for Monopoly.

It got bad around property trading time, when most of the properties had been claimed. Soul quietly suggested that they take the railroads, since there was no investment involved and the money was constant, but Maka scoffed, insisting that no one won at Monopoly with railroads.  _She_  wanted Boardwalk and Park Place, insisting only the big hit would eliminate their opponents. Black*Star then loudly proclaimed that a god like him could win even with the railroads, and Tsubaki had to scramble to keep him down off the table. When the trading was done, Maka and Soul ended up with Boardwalk and Park Place along with the orange properties and Baltic and Mediterranean. Maka got her way by simply refusing to trade otherwise, and since she and Soul had somehow acquired the key to every property grouping, people  _had_  to deal with her if the game wasn't going to go on ad infinitum. After Maka got her way, the properties fell out easily, and Black*Star had indeed ended up with the railroads and utilities with a cry of "yahooo!" at the prospect, convinced this was his ticket to victory.

As Maka predicted, this was not his ticket to victory. Half an hour later, Maka had four houses on every property, building them up slowly and methodically, and as Black*Star and Tsubaki's turn came, their game piece sitting just around the corner from the dark blue properties, Maka suddenly declared "I want to buy hotels!"

She wasn't the first to do it—Kilik already had hotels on the light blues and Ox had them on the reds—but even so, Black*Star balked.

"You can't do that!" he insisted as Ox, the banker, began the exchange of money for property.

"I can and I am," Maka replied curtly, flashing her opponent a brilliant smile.

"Fuck no, you can't! You can only buy property on your own turn!"

"No, I  _have_  only developed property on my own turn before now, but I  _can_  develop it whenever I wish, and I wish to do so now."

Ox proceeded to rummage through the box to check the rules and end the impasse, finally nodding.

"She is right; there is nothing prohibiting her from purchasing property any time she chooses," he sighed, clearly having hoped to prove otherwise, and Harvar snorted.

"Of course she's right. The girl practically lives in her books—you think she'd miss one of the rules of the game?"

Ox seemed about to come back with something likely to earn him a concussion when Black*Star rolled the dice, ending the conflict with a muttered "Fuck this, let's just get ON with it."

That might have been the end of it, too, if the blue-haired meister hadn't counted out his roll, his Top Hat piece landing squarely on Boardwalk.

"That'll be be 2000 dollars," Maka held out her hand with a smug little grin. As it turned out, Black*Star and Tsubaki didn't actually  _have_  2000 dollars left since they had only just finished landing on a light blue property, and then a red. Their net holdings were more like 200, and even mortgaging every spare bit, they couldn't pay it.

"YOU FUCKING CHEATER!" Black*Star shot up. "YOU'RE ALL FUCKING CHEATERS! THAT SHIT IS NOT IN THE RULES!" He poked a finger into Ox's chest. "YOU EVEN FUCKING HELPED HER CHEAT!" Both Harvar and Soul snorted at this, since the very idea of Ox helping Maka to do  _anything_  without being expressly ordered to was somewhat laughable. Tsubaki was saying something too quiet to hear, trying to talk her meister back down, when Kilik spoke.

"Why not let Tsubaki read the rules so you know it's true?"

Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing to look at the Pot Meister, who looked calmly back. Oblivious, the twins laughed in the corner, caught up in their own little world.

"I mean, it only makes sense; his partner wouldn't lie." The red drained from Black*Star's face then, whether because his anger had subsided or because he was sick with the embarrassment that everyone seemed to know of his illiteracy Soul couldn't say, but he wasn't sure why it mattered. Sure, it had surprised him, early on, how many people his age couldn't read, but Star was hardly alone—Harvar couldn't read well either and seemed bothered by that fact not at all, for all Ox kept trying to rectify the situation.

Nodding her enthusiastic assent, Tsubaki asked for the instructions and puzzled through them, her English reading less sure than her native tongue, though still competent enough. Finally, she nodded again, slowly.

"Black*Star—Maka's right," she said softly. "She was allowed to buy hotels whenever she wished." Black*Star made a noise of incredulity, something between a snort and a cough, his fist clenching, seemingly about to explode again.

"Maka?" Soul ventured softly in her ear. "Maybe you could take just what they can pay and keep the mortgaged property? It would be—"

"No," she said firmly, stubbornly meeting his gaze.

"No? Would it kill you to show some merc—"

"A GOD DOESN'T NEED MERCY FROM HIS FOLLOWERS!" Black*Star jumped on the table, sending pieces flying. Maka looked up at him, her gaze an open challenge, before turning to Soul.

"There's no mercy in Monopoly. Besides, some one else will only take them out in a turn or two—and I thought you wanted the railroads?" she said with a coy smile. Soul let out a huff, deciding diplomacy would get him nowhere with his meister—normally she was empathetic and caring, but in games like these, she became downright ruthless. Meanwhile, Tsubaki somehow managed to talk Black*Star down off the table, who looked over the group with a head shake.

"Gods don't play board games anyway—that's minion crap," he bellowed and then stalked away to begin doing martial arts exercises in another part of the house—loudly.

The game continued and, in the end, Kilik won. Sometimes, the levelheaded approach was the right one. Maka spent the better part of half an hour scowling as she and Soul were the last eliminated when they landed on the green properties, and Ox, having been taken out by Kilik twenty minutes prior, was already poring over some maps by lantern light, trying to look more important than he was, Harvar whittling something or other with a sharp spear bladed finger nearby. By the end of the night, they were all back in front of the fire. Their annoyance with losing (or in the case of Kilik the afterglow of winning,) having faded, and the game having blown off steam, they spent the last hour of the night before bed sharing hot cocoa and swapping stories. Maka wasn't always right, but she was right about one thing—leisure helped, even when it involved Monopoly.

Yet, even those hours of camaraderie, of leisure, could not help Soul. The Oni's presence in his dreams was becoming more forceful, his presence in his mind more firm. He even heard the demon whisper within his waking thoughts on occasion. Soul thought, perhaps, he was going mad, that the strain of it all had finally broken him, but he fought on, fought the madness because he refused to let Maka down. She needed him, he knew she needed him, and he would be there for her no matter what the cost, no matter what the Oni said or how hard he tried to undermine his resolve. And he tried, sweet Shinigami, how he tried.

One such night, long after the rest of the team had drifted off to sleep within their sleeping bags spread around the fire, Soul sat on the floor on his own sleeping bag, gazing into the flames, once more afraid to sleep. His gaze periodically shifted, in his exhausted boredom, to Maka, who lay about a yard from his feet, her breathing soft and even. She looked so beautiful in her sleep, so peaceful, that Soul envied her, even as he was thankful for it—she needed the rest, they all did. He shifted his gaze back to the fire. As much as he could stare at her all night, stare at the shadow and light playing over her form, it made him feel a bit like a stalker from one of those cheesy horror flicks.

"Isn't that what you are, Soul?" A voice in his head said with a low chuckle, and he cringed. The Oni was back, curse the little shit to hell.

 _No,_  he thought.  _That's your job, right? Stalking me?_

"Oh, Soul, Soul, Soul. How many times do I have to tell you? I  _am_  you, in a manner of

speaking."

 _Bullshit_. Soul heard the sigh within his head, felt the pull with dread, and there he was, in that strange tacky room, red and black and hideous. He had been here dozens of times by now, the demon's ability to pull him here strengthening with each day that passed. The same scratchy, mediocre jazz played on the phonograph that he had heard too often of late, and the demon occupied the same antique chair he always did. How Soul hated this place. He loosened the tie of his suit, the one he found himself wearing each time, already feeling stifled by its stiff formality. Soul didn't know what this place was other than that it was somewhere within his own mind. The demon claimed it was his soul, and maybe it was. Figured he'd end up with such crappy decor as a reflection of his essence; he'd never quite been up to snuff.

"Haven't I been trying to tell you that?" Oni grinned at him from his chair, swirling the wine in his glass languidly. "You, Soulie-boy, are a user, a burden, someone else's problem. Always have been, always will be."

He didn't respond. He tried not to talk to the demon, tried to ignore it when he could, not that it helped. It was especially hard because, deep down, Soul knew he was right.

"Of course I'm right! I'm a part of you—I only speak what you already know, and what you know is that you are worthless. Wes was stuck with you all his life, stuck taking care of you until it finally got him killed. If it weren't for you, his  _weapon_ brother _,_  he could have joined a settlement. He wouldn't have had to fear that you'd be discovered, and he'd still be alive right now." Soul flinched at the words, the image of Wes being impaled before him replaying in his mind at the truth the demon brought to light, but said nothing because there was nothing to say.

"What I keep wondering, Soul, is if you know I'm telling the truth, why do you fight me so hard? You want not to be a burden. You want to be strong. I can help you with that, if you'll let me."

"No. I've told you, I'm not your puppet."

"Ah, but you are willing to be  _her_  puppet, aren't you, Soul?"

"Fuck you," he growled. He didn't want to talk about this, hated it when the demon talked about this.

"Ah, but we need to talk about it, Soul."

"No."

"You can't avoid it forever." He could. He would. He tried to force himself to consciousness, tried to force himself out of this place. Usually, if he thought hard enough of Maka when the demon spoke of her, he could. He concentrated, willed himself back to his place by the fire, and bit his lip in frustration when nothing happened, the demon, the room, the chair all still before him.

"You're too exhausted and she's too far away."

"She was right at my feet."

" _Was_  being the operative term. She got up to do whatever meisters do in the middle of the night. Probably take a tinkle." The demon grinned at him wickedly. "You are my guest for a little while longer, it would seem."

"I thought you said you were me. That doesn't even make sense, you asshole."

"Such hurtful names, such temper, but that _is_  unimportant. I am you and I am not you, but that is also unimportant. What is important is what I can do for you."

"I know, I know, make me stronger. You're a fucking broken record, you know that?"

"So you are willing to let her die, then, to watch her life bleed out of her just as you did with Wes?"

"Fuck off."

"Because that's where you're headed, you know. She calls the shots, she takes care of you, and one of these days, your weakness will get her killed."

"I'm not gonna let that happen."

"And you think you can stop it? She'd be better off with another weapon, a stronger weapon, we both know that."

"I can protect her—I did it before."

"You almost got the both of you killed."

Soul growled his frustration, his fear.

"She's too good for you, you know she is. She's going to die some day because she's stuck with you dragging her down. But I can help you, make you stronger, make it so that nothing will ever hurt her."

"I'll do that myself."

"And if you can't?"

"I will." The demon just laughed and images of Maka, broken, bloodied, lifeless on the dirt, came to him unbidden.

"You can't," the demon whispered in his mind. "But I can. All you have to do is let go, give in, to me, to the madness inside. All you have to do—"

"I told you to fuck OFF!" Soul shouted, lunging at the demon, who just laughed at him. A moment later, the wretched thing disappeared, but the image of Maka returned, and his fear, his grief, choked him. She couldn't be gone, he wouldn't let her be gone, not because of him, not for him. Not for any reason. He wasn't worth it, had never been worth it, and a world without Maka really would be a living hell. He tried to banish the image, but he was powerless to stop it, and eventually, he found himself screaming, unable to stem the tide of anguish that overwhelmed him. He began to tear at his hair. Stop, he needed it to stop.

And then, suddenly, it did. The Scythe felt strong hands, small and warm, one on his face, the other shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Soul. Wake up, Soul. You're having a nightmare; I could feel it in your wavelength, but it's okay." He blinked up at her, his eyes bleary with sleep and fear. Maka was alive, of course she was alive, but the fear, the concern on her face as she knelt over him, fear for him, cut through him.  _He_  was making her worry, making her afraid. He really was a burden, a useless burden.

"'M fine, Maka." He tried to sound reassuring through the haze of fear and exhaustion. "Jus' a dream, like you said. Go back to sleep." Her brow furrowed as she frowned down at him, but she nodded just the same.

"You too, okay?"

"I will," he murmured, and she stroked his cheek before removing her hand and getting up to lay at his feet once more. Soul missed her soothing touch immediately, but he would not burden her further, ask more of her. If he weren't such a coward, so afraid of being alone, he would leave her, let her find a better weapon—but then, then he really couldn't protect her, and there was that part of him that whispered that she needed him, too.

* * *

The night after his worst demon dream yet, Maka approached him. To say he was surprised when she sat next to him by the fire, looking at him with that serious gaze that meant she had been thinking too long and too hard, wasn't quite right. Soul knew she'd been considering something, he just hadn't been able to figure out what. Perhaps if they had resonated recently he'd have an idea, but it had been days since they'd fought the last kishin and over a week since they'd connected their souls. Cold, bored, and spent, all of them were too tired for small talk, and a lot of their time of late had been spent in companionable silence, only Black*Star unable to stand the quiet for more than a few minutes. That night, the others were mostly engaged in an old game called Life, Maka having bowed out due to sheer exhaustion, the strain of her near constant use of Soul Perception sapping her strength. Soul pulled up a chair near the fireplace and switched on his ipod, having neither the will nor energy to deal with the group just then.

Maka sat in the chair next to him for several minutes, just staring into the flames. He sensed her presence immediately but said nothing, keeping his eyes half lidded, though his attention for his music had vanished. Finally, he felt her hand on his shoulder and turned his gaze her way.

"Soul?" she said tentatively. He plucked out his earbuds to signal he was listening.

"I have an idea, about how we might be able to find the Shinigami."

"Hmmm?" He responded, raising an eyebrow. Soul wasn't sure why she was being so hesitant about whatever it was, and it made him more than a little nervous.

"I'll need your help, but I think I can make a wider search."

"How? You know whatever it is you need I'll do." She colored slightly, why he couldn't say, then nodded.

"I…I know," she smiled, a small, shy smile.

"Um, so!" She stood, tugging him up with her. "We need to resonate! I think it will boost my ability enough to do a wider search!"

He looked at her blankly for a few moments, then nodded. They hadn't resonated out of battle for months, and then it had been for training. Even during battle, as intense as things were, as distracting as they tended to be, Soul had started to fear letting his feelings for her slip and what that might mean. But it was more than that, too. It was the demon that haunted his dreams, that cajoled him and taunted him and tried to barter with him; he had hidden that from her, too. He didn't know what it was, what it meant exactly, but it was getting stronger—last night alone told him it was getting stronger. The Scythe feared that it was a part of the black blood Stein had warned him of and that it would somehow take her, too, so he held back. But it had become hard, very hard, to hide so much when their souls connected. Without the distraction of a battle, he didn't know how much he could hide and hoped it would be enough. He couldn't risk exposing her to his inner demon, and as for his feelings, Soul wasn't ready to go there yet and wasn't sure that Maka ever would be.

His meister smiled back at him and, holding his hand, led her weapon to the unoccupied kitchen. If the others noticed, they neither commented nor followed and suddenly, the two were alone for the first time that day. The first time in several days, really. Soul tried to keep his thoughts on the task at hand, but as she grabbed his free hand, holding both of his hands in hers as she faced him, the warmth of her small, warm fingers entwined with his were ridiculously distracting, as were her too green eyes peering into his with her trademark determination, illuminated only by an oil lamp and her own inner light. He began to fear he was going to do something seriously uncool when she finally spoke again.

"Are you ready?" Maka looked exhausted behind the bright smile, the blue black smudges under her eyes telling. Soul took a good look at her, hair bound in her trademark pigtails, her jeans and chocolate colored sweater lightly rumpled. He knew the clothes hid the cuts and bruises from their last kishin fight, knew the strain of the search, the responsibility of leading the group, the fear that they would be too late and it would be her fault—all of it was wearing her down. He wanted to smile, to reassure her, but he couldn't help his frown of concern. How had he failed to notice how haggard she had become?

"Maybe we should wait until morning," he murmured, squeezing her hands. "Get some rest. Start fresh." Maka shook her head in response, opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could begin. "You're exhausted, Maka. We can do this in the morning."

"No." The firmness in her voice and her eyes surprised him, though her determination, her stubbornness, were typical, really.

"Maka—"

"I said, no. We do this now, tonight. We've wasted enough time. If this works and we find something, we can use tonight to plan and head out in the morning." He was about to protest, but this time, she cut him off. "That's an order, as the leader of Spartoi  _and_  as your meister, got it?"

Soul couldn't keep the scowl of frustration off his face. She had never, not once, played the meister card, and he felt the anger coiling within him. He was just trying to protect her, fuck it all. But he could see that further resistance would only deepen her resolve; when Maka got an idea in that thick skull of hers, there was no dissuading her. Soul could fight her and end up with a Maka chop to the head and still have to do things her way, or he could just get it over with so he could finally push her into getting some rest. Stubborn, stubborn woman. He bit back another protest, instead growling out. "Fine, my  _master_."

"That's better." Maka's tone was light, ignoring her weapon's seething. "Now—Soul Resonance!" she said firmly, and the Scythe felt her soul move to surround his own. In his anger, his rushed back towards her forcefully, and the connection was quick and intense, if shaky, his rage throwing off their bond. Soul tried to pull it back, tamp it down, as his feelings overwhelmed them both; he cringed, as some of those feelings washing through them were the very same feelings he had been working so hard to hide. At least the demon remained quiet, and he was thankful for that much. He heard her gasp slightly, caught the barest hint of something unfamiliar, warm and wonderful, from her that calmed his own rage, that had his soul reaching to deepen their connection, to feel  _more_ , but she withdrew before they could wholly merge, pulling that something back, leaving that part of him she had touched feeling oddly empty.

 _Now._  Her thought was a bit shaky in his head. I _'m going to try to expand my Perception_. He signaled his understanding and she nodded, then her eyes became glassy and unfocused. Sensing much of what she did, Soul was not surprised when his meister shook her head, her sense of defeat overwhelming them both for the barest instant before something snapped within her and he felt the barriers over her soul snap with it, all of her rushing to mingle with all of him, shoving his own barriers aside like so much crepe paper. Merged wholly, one soul in two bodies, Maka pushed their now shared Perception to the outer limit, reaching through the miles, sensing kishin after kishin, small settlements, animals beyond counting. Soul ignored the feelings coursing through them both, that warm wonderful something that he now recognized as a mirror to the very feelings he himself had worked so hard to hide, they both did. The Perception moved on, pushing past all limits. Finally, finally, they sensed something new: a weapon and a meister, two more weapons and—and—

"I found him," she whispered what he already knew, their connection suddenly breaking apart as Maka collapsed into his waiting arms.

 


	9. A Boy Named Kid

He was in his room again, meditating. Lately, he spent most of his time in his room meditating. It was supposed to help with focus, with mood, with mental stability. At least, that's what the several books he had recently read on the subject claimed. In truth, it was doing very little for his larger issues, but at least by staying calmly in his room, by having a good excuse to remain calmly in his room, he was avoiding any real meltdowns. Since that was, in its way, progress, he would take it. Better this than the alternative, after all.

Realizing that his thoughts were running too quickly to really be considered meditation, he got up from his proper position on the floor, stretching his arms and back before looking around the room to reassure himself it was all still as perfect as he had left it thirty minutes before. The bed was still in the center of the room, black lacquer headboard spotless against the white wall, black lacquer nightstands on either side perfectly spaced. Two pillows, blankets spread evenly, folded perfectly, all in grey satin, two red throw pillows placed evenly, one centered on each larger pillow. The oversized painting, a symmetrical piece covered in blocks of color, was centered over the bed and the black lacquer chest at the foot of it was also centered, with the two red velvet chairs across the room evenly spaced. The black tile floor—he had chosen this particular room for its symmetry, and the tile added to that—was spotless. Everything was as he'd left it, perfect, perfectly symmetrical, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he held. He was safe here, in his perfect little room, in his perfect little world. Sid might want him to do more, be more, Nygus might want him to feel better, be better, Liz and Patti might insist he see the world, experience life, but for him, this was life. This  _had to be life_ , and he cursed again the day he had been brought into this world a Shinigami. How he envied his adoptive parents, how he envied his weapons, how he envied all humans who neither noticed nor seemed bothered by the constant imperfection of the world.

Death the Kid, for that was his name—Sid had come up with it, though mostly they just called him Kid—sometimes wondered if knowing his father (maker? parent? predecessor? He was never quite sure how to think of the being who had spawned him, as many times as he had been told about him,) would have helped him to see the world differently, to be more normal or more godlike, maybe both, to be  _functional_. From every description that he had heard from Sid and from Nygus, the prior Shinigami had been friendly and charismatic, if a bit on the enigmatic side of the spectrum. He had certainly not been obsessed with order, with perfection, with  _symmetry_. Kid couldn't count the number of times he'd puzzled over that, wondering if the haste of his creation had been the origin of his seeming imperfection as a Death God, with stripes only on one side of his head and a fixation with perfection in an imperfect world that was nothing short of crippling.  _Oh Death, those stripes_! Why did he have to think about the stripes?

Collapsing to the floor and clutching his head in anguish, Kid curled into a ball of despair. "Why must I be asymmetrical garbage?" he whispered to the heavens, to the world, to his lost parent, to no one, his voice raw. "Why was I created only to be like this? Why was I created at all?" He resisted, barely, the urge to start tearing out his hair, instead balling his fists angrily and pounding the ground, anything to release his pent up feelings, his inadequacy, his horror. He heard a light knock on his door, followed by the handle turning and the door swinging inward. The Shinigami did not look up, his eyes sealed shut, unwilling to face the room, the world, his friends.

"Okay, Kid, I think you've been in here long en—shit!" the expletive was low and forceful. "Sid, Nygus!" he heard the voice yell out. "It's happening again—I need your help!" He heard her steps draw near, felt her hands on his back, rubbing circles.

"It's alright, Kid. Whatever it is we can fix, okay? Just, sit up. It'll be alright." Liz's voice was low and soothing, and he tried to calm his breathing, tried to follow her light back from the pit of despair and self-loathing he had hurled himself into. It wasn't easy. It was never easy.

He heard more footsteps rushing in, heard the loud rush of breath, heard Nygus ask quietly what it was this time and Liz respond that she didn't know, that she had found him this way. Kid hated being their problem, their constant concern. He really was a failure as a god. How was he supposed to look after people when he couldn't even look after himself, his own thoughts, his own behavior?

More footsteps, and then, giggles erupting into downright chuckles. Ah, Patti was here. So nice that she mocked his pain.

"Shh, Patti!," Nygus chided, Liz then cutting in. "Where's Sid?"

"Away. Something triggered the perimeter alarm and he went to check it out. Probably just another squirrel, but best to be sure. He was about to ask Kid to check when he heard you, so he just went to take care of it himself." Her voice was quiet, yet clear enough. Kid hated how they talked about him like he wasn't there when he was like this, like he wasn't a person, like he didn't matter. Death how he hated it, hated this.

He forced himself to sit up, the idea of a task, any task, allowing his mind to refocus away from his own physical imperfection. He needed to focus, yes, and this was something to focus on. Good. Very good. He pushed his Soul Perception out, looking for Sid and finding him easily. He was moving fast, moving to the edge of the several acres they currently called home. Kid moved his Perception beyond him, seeking in the direction Sid was headed and finding…finding…

"Sweet Shinigami," he breathed.

"Kid, what is it? Kid!?" Liz was shaking his shoulders and Nygus was bent over both of them, the look of concern in her eyes clear above the wrappings. Even Patti had stopped laughing, cut off abruptly by his tone.

"Weapons, meisters," he said quietly. "A group of them. A large group. Eight—no—Nine! Why couldn't it be eight?" He felt his will slipping, his drive towards perfection pushing him towards the edge again, and with sheer force of will born of fear for his foster father alone, wrenched his thoughts back. "We need, we should… Liz! Patti! I need you!" There was no hesitation, no more questions. The two Pistols transformed into his waiting hands and he stood and ran, trailed closely by Nygus. When they burst outside he called on Beelzebub and mounted, giving Nygus a moment to step up behind him, hands on his waist for support, before taking off quickly in the direction Sid had gone. He could sense the intruders approaching him and he willed his board to move faster. Kid could not read their intent, but he would never, ever let them hurt Sid.

The group converged at the same time, Kid, his weapons, and Nygus arriving as Sid cautiously approached the intruders. The Shinigami landed his board just to the right of Sid and hopped off, reabsorbing it even as Nygus transformed into her meister's waiting hand.

"'Bout time you guys got here," Sid drawled. "You almost missed the party. As you can see, we've got company." Kid swept his gaze over the people facing him.

They were an odd group, standing defensively, weapons in hand. On one end was a tall boy, dark skinned with square glasses and a grim smile, wielding two large Gauntlets. They were beautiful weapons, almost perfect in their symmetry, and Kid took a second to admire them before moving his gaze over. Next to the tall meister was a slightly shorter, stockier boy with bright blue hair holding a wicked looking Chain Scythe, face split into a wide smile. Kid could feel the anticipation in his soul and wondered at it as he looked further inward. Standing slightly out front was a slight girl with ash blonde hair, her green eyes glassy as she seemed to stare right into his soul. The pigtails hanging loosely over a bulky jacket and jeans bespoke a harmlessness that was belied by the large red and black Scythe she held in front of herself protectively. Indeed, they all wore a similar uniform, jeans and hats or warm headbands and bulky coats. It was the typical attire of winter in the frozen north. At the other end of the line, next to the blonde, was an odd boy, tall and gangly, his head shaved but for two large spiked pieces of hair, his hands firmly holding a Long Spear. The Spear Meister's mouth was a flat line as the two groups stared each other down. Kid had never been good at reading intent and this group felt—he could only describe it as committed, but to what he could not say.

Finally, the blonde looked to the members of her group and nodded. With his superhuman hearing, Kid caught a metallic voice asking "are you sure?" and the girl replying quietly "I'm sure, Soul," before walking forward another step. She seemed about to say something, to address those across from her, to address  _him_ , but Sid cut her off.

"Who are you people and what do you want?" His voice was sharp, his normally friendly tone replaced by an edge of menace.

"My name is Maka Albarn," the girl said calmly, though he could feel the slight trepidation in her soul. "The group with me is Spartoi. We were sent by the Council of Boulder to find, protect, and retrieve the Shinigami. If I am not mistaken, I believe he is before us." Her eyes settled on Kid and he couldn't help but to be surprised. He'd been prepared all his life to be hunted, but none had never come for him, none until now.

"I think you must be mistaken after all," Sid answered before Kid could even make an attempt. "The Shinigami is dead—has been since the plague hit. Now, I think it's best if you—"

"Sid wait," a metallic voice echoed from his side, and in a flash of light, Nygus stood beside him, looking the blonde over carefully. Sid put a questioning hand on her shoulder and they exchanged a look, then Sid just nodded and said nothing. Nygus turned her attention back to the girl who had spoken, taking a step nearer.

"You say your name is Albarn, girl?" She asked, her eyes meeting those of the meister across from her.

"That's right."

"Who were your parents?"

"I'm not sure why that matters. We're here as the re—"

"Just answer her," Sid stepped beside his weapon, his nearness underscoring the tension of the situation. One wrong move, one wrong word, and this whole thing would blow up in their faces like a powder keg and, Shinigami or not, they were outnumbered by a good bit. The girl who had called herself Maka looked from one to the other, then shrugged as if to suggest it wasn't worth a fight.

"My father's name is Spirit Albarn," though her voice was even, there was a hint of something odd in her soul as she said his name. Kid had difficulty reading such things, he always had, but he thought it might be bitterness. "My mother was Kami Albarn. If my father told the truth, then you knew them, once." Nygus nodded at the answer, but raised an eyebrow.

"Your Mama was a Spear Meister, wasn't she? Surprised you chose a Scythe."

"My mother was a Scythe Meister and my  _father,_ " the distaste with which she said the word was surprising, " is a Scythe—he was Lord Death's last Deathscythe, actually. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

"God damnit, people!" The blue-haired meister suddenly shouted. "Are we gonna fight or what? Because this shit is getting ollllld. Your god is tired of hearing you all blab. Let's just get  _on_  with it already."

"Black*Star!" the blonde hissed at him at the same time as his own weapon.

"What?" He looked annoyed, glancing from his weapon, to the blonde, then back. The blonde just shook her head and the blue-haired boy shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, you're in charge. Blah blah blah. Whatever."

The girl's free hand had migrated to her hip as she shot the other meister, she had called him Black*Star, a frown, then turned her gaze to look over the other group again. Her eyes once again moved to Kid and she addressed him directly.

"What, Shinigami, you don't speak? Your life is in danger and we've come to keep you safe. I, for one, would appreciate it if your friends would let us do what we we're here for." Her face brightened into a smile. "And anyway, I think we're all on the same side, here. Maybe we could take things down a notch, have a chat? I really don't think anyone here wants a fight."

Black*Star made a strangled noise and the girl scowled at him before murmuring something to her weapon, who transformed to stand beside her in a flash of light. He was less bundled than some of the others, wearing a worn leather jacket over jeans, his hair pushed back from his eyes by a thick, black headband that went around his ears. Kid tried to focus on the odd whiteness of his hair rather than its gross asymmetry. Fortunately, his struggle was interrupted by more flashes as the other weapons followed the Scythe's lead, the Spear being replaced by a tall boy with short spiky hair and sunglasses wearing only a trench coat over his jeans, the twin gauntlets becoming small and well bundled children, and the Chain Scythe morphing into a very tall, very beautiful woman of some sort of Asian descent, her dark hair up in a ponytail, her dark jeans and white sweater seeming inadequate against the weather.

Kid answered before anyone else could, meeting the blonde's gaze. "We can go inside and talk, if you would like. It is, at the very least, impolite to keep you all standing out here in the cold." Kid couldn't help but to glance to Sid and Nygus. Nygus gave a slight nod. "You will have to excuse me for not having my own weapons transform to match your gesture of goodwill, but they are not adequately dressed for the cold, seeing that your arrival was most unexpected. If you would follow me, then?" He inclined his head and the blonde nodded, the newcomers falling into step around her as Kid moved back towards the cabin, foregoing Beelzebub in an attempt to put the group at ease. The walk would take several minutes and Kid noted the irony of their situation, the tall trees surrounding the path, stretching their limbs to the sky to block out the rest of the world and confining them all in a tunnel of brown and green, giving the group the false appearance of intimacy, their walk seeming a part of a close gathering among friends. As they moved in relative silence, the team from Boulder sharing quite comments among themselves, Liz's voice, interrupted his thoughts. It was quiet, meant just for him and for her sister.

"Are you sure, Kid?"

"I'm sure they mean no harm, and I'm sure Sid and Nygus think the same." He said so quietly that without their soul bond, even his weapons would not have heard him. "Other than that, I am not sure what to think. I would very much like to know more, though." Liz let out a sigh, odd and metallic.

"Yeah, alright."

"ALRIGHT!" Patti repeated, an excited yell echoing through the woods around them. "NEW FRIENDS!" Liz shushed her, and they all went back to walking in silence, ignoring a few nervous laughs and the stares the Shinigami was sure were now aimed their way.

Kid had a lot to consider and not a lot of time in which to consider it. The girl had said they were from Boulder, that they were here for him, and he had no reason to disbelieve this. His Soul Perception was not perfect, he often missed things, but Maka's words had not read as anything near deception. From the rumors they had heard, Boulder was supposed to be some sort of haven for weapons and meisters, a place where the old remnants of the DWMA were gathered. They said they were here to protect and retrieve him, but why? Did they expect him to be the Shinigami, a true God of Death? If so, then they were going to be sorely disappointed—he was a sad, malformed thing, not worthy of his reaper blood. He supposed they would learn that truth soon enough and be on their way, and Kid could go back to living within his confined perfection, could continue his daily struggle to maintain his slim grip on sanity. Yes, that would be for the best. His thoughts settled into something like order, he reached the house and opened the door, making his way to the large sitting room as he heard Sid and Nygus usher the group in behind them.

The room was two stories high and nicely proportioned; once the centerpiece of someone's very comfortable leisure cabin, strewn with puffy leather couches centered around an overlarge fireplace, it would now be the center of a negotiation of sorts. Kid chose a large chair situated at either end of two couches and waited for their 'guests,' hoping to make this as quick and painless as possible. Liz and Patti transformed and took seats on the couch to his right, Liz frowning in thought, Patti looking almost gleeful in expectation. Both were wearing cutoff shorts and tank tops—they really would have frozen outside. He found himself wishing, for the sake of appearances, that he himself were wearing something slightly nicer than jeans and a black turtleneck (though he never really felt the cold or heat much, something about his Shinigami body, he did care how he looked,) but it was too late for that now. Probably for the best anyway. They needed to know he was no god.

As the others caught up, the newcomers congregated around the opposite couch. Maka sat in the center, with her weapon on one side and the meister with the child-gauntlets on the other, the rest of her group standing expectantly behind. All except for the boy called Black*Star, who suddenly leapt over the back and wedged himself between the white-haired Scythe and the arm of the couch.

"What the fuck, Star?" the weapon growled.

"A god needs to be where the action is," the meister proclaimed in response. His weapon looked embarrassed behind him, coloring slightly, but said nothing. The Shinigami wondered if that was how his own weapons felt when he was struggling, having an episode and beyond the reach of all reason. They probably felt worse. Black*Star might be obnoxious, but Kid knew that he himself was unbearable.

A moment later, after Sid stripped off his thick down coat and Nygus threw another stout log onto the fire, the two joined Liz and Patti, and Kid turned towards the strangers, steepling his fingers to avoid tapping them nervously.

"Now then, assuming everyone is comfortable enough," he noted that the other group was probably getting warm under their coats but let it pass—he didn't mean for them to stay long enough to actually get comfortable. "Perhaps we should begin with introductions. As you have somehow managed to discover, I am indeed Death the Kid. Just to my right are my weapons, Elizabeth and Patricia Thompson, and next to them are Sid Barrett and Mira Nygus my—" he faltered for a moment, unsure how to name them, then finally settled on a term, "—caretakers. You have been so kind as to introduce yourself, Maka. Perhaps you might extend the courtesy by introducing your friends?"

Maka nodded, her eyes never leaving his. She showed neither fear nor threat and Kid found himself more and more sure she was exactly what she said she was. She gestured to her right first, to the white-haired boy. "This is my weapon Soul, next to him is Black*Star, and behind Star is his weapon Tsubaki." She gestured to her left, then. "That's Kilik, with his weapons Fire and Thunder, and behind him are Ox and Harvar. Like I said, we came from Boulder to find you, Lord Death."

Kid raised a hand in response. "It's Kid. Just Kid." He certainly deserved no such honorifics, not that she could know that. He was reaper leftovers, a sad, broken creation. Focus. He needed to maintain focus, get through this. Then he could return to meditating. "And if you are here because you believe you have found a new Shinigami, I fear you are going to be sadly disappointed. I am no Lord Death."

Maka's eyes never left his.

"You  _are_  the Shinigami. Your soul cannot lie."

"No," he shook his head sadly. "I am what the Shinigami left behind. There is no Shinigami anymore, and I have no intention of trying to fill a role that is beyond me." Kid stood. The uneven numbers, the strange, asymmetrical people, everything was starting to overwhelm him. He needed to get out of here. "Now, if you will all excuse me? Feel free to stay as long as you need to, but I really must get back to my meditations."

"Wait—I haven't fin—" the blonde called after him.

"Let him go," Sid said quietly.

Kid didn't bother looking back to see the gaping stares of the strangers that he knew he would find, couldn't be bothered, because he needed the solitude of his room now. What they asked of him, it was an impossible dream; hopefully, they would understand that now and go.

* * *

Kid spent the next several hours in his room. He could hear the voices on the other side of the house even if he couldn't understand them, could sense the souls still congregated there. He had thought the group from Boulder would leave, but they didn't, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. So many people around would surely trigger his obsessiveness that much more frequently, and since there was no way he could be what they wanted him to be, it was better, far better, if they left. He hoped that Sid and Nygus would push them in that direction, but was doubtful; Sid and Nygus both had long been wanting him to try, to embrace who he was supposed to be. It's why they had forced him out into the world last year, why they had sought and found weapons for him, why they now spoke of taking another journey. His weapons only made things worse; as much as the Thompson sisters enjoyed the relative luxury of this place, this spacious, remote cabin with its solar electricity and amenities, they also missed being out in the world in a way Kid never could. He had always preferred solitude, where he could not be disturbed by forces beyond his control, by the chaos that reigned supreme outside. Too much time out there left him a useless, blubbering mass—a piece of reaper garbage. No, he could not be their god.

Listening to the stillness that had settled over the cabin, Kid thought it must be safe to emerge from his room, to perhaps eat something and then go to bed. It was late now, yet no one had bothered him in his solitude. He had expected Liz, maybe even Patti, yet even they seemed to sense his need for quiet and let him be; sometimes, their soul bond had its uses. As he pushed open the door to his room slowly, he was met with the darkened hall and crept his way down it. He could sense the mass of strange souls still in the main room, but heard the chatter no more. Approaching the end of the hall, however, and making his way into the kitchen adjacent to the main room, he heard soft murmuring and perked his ears in curiosity.

No one else would have been able to hear the quiet voices from this distance, let alone understand them, but his reaper body was good for some things and eavesdropping was one of them. Kid scanned their souls and noted it was Maka and her weapon—his own group were on the other side of the house in their rooms. The Shinigami moved silently to the edge of the kitchen, peering into the darkened room, his keen vision allowing him to see without being seen. The pair were together on a couch, the weapon leaning against the arm and his meister laying against his chest, both curled up under a shared blanket.

"You know I'm right, Maka. You heard what Liz and Patti said—he hardly leaves his room, and on the way back here from New York he almost threw himself off a bridge five times. There's no way. Shinigami or not, this guy's no god. We should get the hell back to Boulder and tell the Council because there is no way he's helping with shit." Maka twisted around to face her weapon, the frown etched there evident to the reaper's gaze even in the darkness.

"No, Soul. You're right that he's—I don't know—that he has problems, but there's something there, I can feel it. He  _is_  a Shinigami and I think, I don't know, maybe if he tried, maybe if people helped him, he really could be  _the_  Shinigami."

"Maka—" the weapon was about to protest, but she cut him off.

"I'm not finished! Even if you're right and he will never be Lord Death, if he stays here, Masamune will kill him, or if not, someone else will. Our job was to protect him, right? And to do that, to do it well, we need to have him with us. We should help him because he  _needs help_. Not enough people do that, and it's why things are so bad, but it doesn't have to be, you know?" This seemed to strike a chord with the Scythe, who was looking at his meister with something like fondness.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, and his meister curled back against him. "We'll stay, we'll keep trying, alright?"

"Good."

Kid watched as they both closed their eyes, their breathing becoming even, and shook his head. They were wrong about being able to help him, but that wasn't the part that had him worried. Who was this Masamune and what did he want with him? They hadn't mentioned that before. Then again, he hadn't exactly given them the chance. Maybe he should listen to what they had to say. Maybe this girl was right—that people  _should_  try to help each other, and that meant him, too. Yet, how could a fragment, an incomplete piece of trash, help anyone when he couldn't even help himself? He wanted to scream. It was the same trap, and he was the same Kid. Useless. Forever useless.

The Shinigami never got the chance to finish his line of thought as he sensed the figure in the shadows the instant before it struck. Kid moved to the side in an attempt to dodge, the blade slicing his arm rather than piercing his heart. His grunt of pain was enough to stir their guests and as he scrambled back and prepared, weaponless, to defend himself, he heard the chaos erupt around him. Looking at the dark figure, cloaked in shadow, radiating corruption, Kid decided, grimly, that this must be Masamune.


	10. Sibling Rivalry

When she shot up out of sleep at the sound, not loud so much as out of place, Tsubaki sensed instantly that something was very wrong. Yet, even in this unfamiliar place among strangers, she knew without doubt what she faced. She could sense his presence, like a filthy blanket had settled over the entire room, foul and festering and dark. The Council had not been mistaken—he was after the Shinigami, the strange boy who had called himself Kid. Tsubaki had not believed he would strike so soon, but was not surprised. Her brother was ever resourceful, ever cunning, ever deadly. Now was her chance to finally deal with him, finally taste vengeance, and she rose quickly, quietly, heedless of the commotion of the others rising in confusion and dismay; they had heard the noise, the muffled cry of pain, as well as she. Trained warriors all, plague survivors all, they oriented quickly, but the Shadow Weapon was faster because she knew what she faced and she would face it alone if she could help it. The last thing she wished on her conscience was for anyone else to die by his hands, the hands of her own flesh and blood and bone—especially not one of the people she had come to consider friends.

Her actions were almost instantaneous. She had been sleeping on the floor near Black*Star, who had somehow managed to roll so close to her during the night that his arm and leg were both slung half over her. Tsubaki pushed him aside indelicately and sprang up as she saw the shadowed figure she knew to be her brother standing in the doorway to the kitchen. No one else could have given off that dark aura, that overwhelming feeling of taint that threatened to choke her. In a flash, her hair was a partial chain scythe in her hand and she threw it outwards, only half surprised when shadows rose to repel it and send it flying back at her. She willed it to a harmless stop, her command over her own steel-flesh impeccable after a lifetime of training, before shifting into a defensive crouch. Tsubaki could not see him well, but his presence, his long shadow, his eyes glowing eerily red in the darkness, were unmistakable.

"Tsubaki-chan," he said softly, then paused. He made a motion, hardly visible, and there was a grunt of pain and the sound of backward shuffling.

"Ah ah ah," the Dark Sword said to whoever had made the noise, "none of that. You'll excuse me, Little Flower, but our reunion will have to wait." More shadows hurtled towards her as her brother moved further into the kitchen. She dodged them even as she heard a shout of "Tsubaki!"

"I'm fine, Black*Star. But he is here." Others were rushing towards the kitchen and she needed to do the same. She heard Maka shout.

"It's the kishin from before, the one who is supposed to go after the Shinigami!" Flashes of light erupted from throughout the room immediately after, the mark of weapons transforming.

"Tsubaki?" her meister held out his hand. It was too late to keep him out of this, to keep any of them out of this, and with a resigned sigh she transformed. Perhaps this was better. Surely, surely even the Dark Sword must be overcome by so many, and then it would finally, truly, be over.

Kid's shouts for his weapons were audible, his voice seeming to carry unnaturally, to echo throughout the building, and Black*Star, capable of being serious when the situation called for it, stalked their prey by foregoing the kitchen to circle around to where they could catch the hall, where Kid seemed to have gone. Where Kid went, Masamune would go, that much was clear.

The others still seemed to be trying to make sense of the situation, scanning the now empty kitchen, all except for Soul and Maka, who were soon on Black*Star's heels; the Shadow Weapon figured the meister must have used her Perception to track the enemy. As Black*Star ran down the hall to the other side of the house, narrow, dark, yet filled with a cacophony of confused, tense voices at either end, Tsubaki feared that the Dark Sword would have the advantage here if they could not get him into a more open space, preferably with some light. The moon was full enough that the clearing just outside the house would be ideal, the right space to fight a difficult foe.

"Get the Shinigami outside—this is no place to fight," she said to her meister, who grunted his ascent. They had reached some sort of game room at the far end of the cabin, the sounds of the others not far behind, and Kid, now with weapons in hand, was facing the tall, dark figure of her brother. Black*Star didn't hesitate, rushing towards the Shinigami with almost inhuman speed to knock him back out a large sliding glass door, the glass shattering as they barreled through it, hurtling to the far edge of the clearing outside. Covered in snow and bathed in moonlight, it was ominously beautiful.

"What in Death's name was THAT?" the black-haired boy scrambled to his feet and looked indignantly at Black*Star, who just shrugged.

"Baki said move it outside, so I moved it outside. You're a Shinigami, right? You'll live."

"Black*Star this isn't the t—" she began, but was cut off as her meister was knocked back by a large mass of shadow, knocked away from the Death God. Surprised by the move, their enemy having been nowhere near, he lost his grip on Tsubaki, who clattered to the ground near Kid's feet.

Her brother, dressed in the same dark clothes as before, stepped into a pool of moonlight, and Tsubaki transformed to face him properly, standing purposefully in front of Kid, her partial kusarigama in her hand. If nothing else, she would protect the Shinigami—no one else would die at Masamune's hands, not while she had breath and strength to stop it.

"I  _had_  hoped to keep this simple, Little Flower. I really had. Get in, get out, and leave you be. Contrary to what you might believe, I have no wish to kill you. It is far more amusing to watch you struggle through your silly little attempt at vengeance." She kept her expression neutral, but his words confused her. Watching? What did he—

"What, you thought I haven't been keeping an eye on you? Tsubaki-chan, you wound me! What type of big brother would I be if I didn't look out for my little sister?" There were some noises from the shattered doorway of the cabin, noises of surprise. Tsubaki ignored them; she had to keep her focus on Masamune.

Her attention on her brother, the Shadow Weapon only noticed Black*Star creeping up behind the Dark Blade half a second before he struck, noticed and cried out.

"Black*Star! NO!"

Even if her meister were willing to listen, it was too late—he grappled her brother from behind, hoping, she was sure, to use his Soul Force and end this, and both were enveloped by shadow. When the shadows receded, only Black*Star stood, Dark Blade in hand, his eyes glowing red like her brother's had before him, his body a canvas for swirled markings that were both dark and beautiful

"No…" she whispered again, feeling her anguish wash over her. She had known what her brother could do, had hoped to prevent it. Had her meister been holding her, synced with her, it never would have happened, but now…

"Ah, Tsubaki-chan," Black*Star spoke with a voice that was both his own and her brother's. "Or should I call you Baki now?" He flashed her a wicked grin, so out of place on the boy that she couldn't suppress the chill in her spine as the leer marred his face. "Your meister is putting up quite the fight, but I'm afraid his soul lacks the discipline to defeat me."

The wicked gleam in the meister's eyes, so unlike him, so like the brother she both loved and hated, filled the pit of her stomach with despair. To fight him now was to fight Black*Star, to kill him to kill Black*Star. And yet, to do nothing was to lose the Shinigami and her meister both as Masamune slowly consumed Black*Star's soul. Unsure how to act, what to do, the decision was taken from her as Ox came in with Harvar, shocking the blue-haired boy, who simply laughed in response.

"Pathetic," he smiled as he turned his eyes away from his sister for but a moment, surrounding the meister and his weapon with shadows that rose and fell to slam them harshly against the ground. The Spear Meister wasn't moving, and the Shadow Weapon feared the worst.

"Who else?" Black*Star said in her brother's voice, calm but audible, the sound carrying through the moonlit clearing. "Who else wants to die tonight? The Shinigami is mine, but the rest of you might live if you would stay out of this. I have no need to kill the ants of Boulder and would rather not waste the effort."

If Masamune was expecting an answer, he didn't get one, but Tsubaki noticed that Kilik and Maka were fanning out in different directions behind him. Both must be as cold as she was—they were all in their sleep clothes, hardly prepared for a fight in the snow. Maka knelt quickly beside Ox to check on him and his weapon, Soul's Scythe form held out defensively, before standing once more and moving to position herself in front of the downed meister and weapon. Masamune either failed to notice or to care as he kept his eyes trained on Tsubaki.

"Release him, brother. Release him and face me alone. You have my word that no one will interfere. Or do you cower before your baby sister?"

"Tempting as the offer is, Little Flower, I am rather enjoying borrowing your meister. His soul will make a nice repast when this is all over, wouldn't you say?"

Tsubaki chewed her lip, trying to appear indecisive. In truth, there was nothing left to say and as her possessed meister took a step forward, she lashed out, her scythe blade rushing out to be shoved aside by the seemingly endless shadows at Masamune's command. She glanced back towards the Shinigami she meant to protect with her life, noting that he was standing and staring. The Shadow Weapon pulled her eyes back to Black*Star, who was strolling slowly towards them as if he hadn't a care in the world, his bare feet crunching quietly in the snow, Masamune's weapon form swinging loosely in his grip. From behind her, Kid's voice was unmistakable.

"So symmetrical," she heard him whisper, unable to fathom what that meant. She heard the metallic voice of one of his weapons, then.

"Kid, there isn't time for this!" she sounded frantic. "That bastard is going to kill us all if you don't—"

"But—"

"GET YOUR ASS MOVING! I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING DIE!" the other weapon cut in, and that seemed to snap the Death God back to reality.

"Yes…" he half whimpered. "I'll—"

"Look, Kid! His HAIR—It leans to one side!" The first weapon exclaimed.

"Oh, so it does—ASYMMETRICAL GARBAGE, I WILL END YOU!"

The Shinigami suddenly sprang into action, calling his hoverboard out from whatever

extradimensional space he kept it in and leaping on to train his weapons on the possessed meister. Before Kid could make his move, there was a cry of "Witch Hunter!" and an almost blinding arc of energy hurtled towards Black*Star. Kid pulled his board up to clear the blast just as it slammed fully into the other meister in a spectacular burst. Tsubaki heard a grunt, then a laugh, maniacal and thin. As the light cleared, Black*Star stood, his dark sleep pants and star t-shirt torn and smoking slightly, but intact, an uncharacteristically wicked leer marring his features. The possesed meister glanced over to Maka, who stood halfway between the still prone Ox and the enemy, her surprise evident, the glow of the resonance with her weapon still strong.

"I thought I told you lot to stay out of it, hmm? Well, it's your funeral." Black*Star shrugged and then flung out a hand, shadows bursting out from in front of him to hurtle towards Maka. Without thought, Tsubaki rushed towards the Scythe Meister, hoping to help her, to stop it. She heard gunfire from above and a growl of pain from her meister. The shadows halted abruptly, and she glanced over to see that Kid had gotten closer and was training a second shot on Black*Star even as Kilik came in with Fire and Thunder, landing a glancing blow before springing backward. Shadows flew towards both, Kid narrowly avoiding them and Kilik grunting in pain at a blow to the shoulder. The boy did not falter and Tsubaki was silently impressed.

She heard the footsteps, quiet and quick, approach her, and knew that it was Maka before her voice was at her side.

"He's your brother?" It was both question and statement.

"Yes," Tsubaki admitted, her eyes trained on the three current combatants, watching several blows miss from both sides.

"Then you must know his weakness."

"He has none," she said with a resigned sigh. "A blow directly to his soul might shake his hold on Black*Star, but none here can deliver that but Black*Star himself. We—" Tsubaki never got to finish, a gasp escaping her throat instead. A shadowy figure had managed to get behind the blue-haired meister, thick arms snaking around to restrain him, a Knife pressed to his throat. It was Sid and Nygus. Tsubaki knew the Demon Knife would not easily break her meister's almost inhuman skin, but if it did, he would be dead, and she cried out "No!" even as she heard the Knife Meister shout.

"Kid—Death Canon!"

"But—" the Shinigami seemed about to protest.

"DO IT OR WE ALL DIE!" There was no answer, but light flashed around Kid as he resonated with his weapons. Understanding rose in her mind like the dawn and Tsubaki ran towards them, intending to stop it. She would not allow it—no one else would die.  _SHE WOULD NOT ALLOW IT_! Before it could go further, however, Black*Star had wrestled the other meister away, and the man had to work to avoid the pursuing shadows.

Tsubaki had to save Black*Star. She had to save them all; it was the only way, the only chance. She had to take that chance and hope her meister was strong enough. She had faith. She knew. He was strong enough— _He had to be_.

She rushed forward, hearing Maka close behind. Tsubaki transformed, releasing a Smoke Bomb, and then, in another flash and burst of movement, she had wrapped her scythe chain around the possessed meister, transforming fully to leave no part vulnerable. The fight to keep him restrained was immediately exhausting, Black*Star's overdeveloped muscles and her brother's shadows working to rend her apart.

"ATTACK HIM!" she shouted, her metallic voice echoing through the clearing. If there was to be a sacrifice, then it would be her, must be her. He was her blood; only she could end this. The Shadow Weapon continued her struggle to keep her meister restrained, keep them both restrained, knowing they had only moments and despairing that the attack would not come soon enough before hearing the air split with an ear piercing scream.

"DEMON HUNTER!" Maka's voice cried, followed quickly by Kilik bellowing "Aphex Twin!" and Kid's shout of "Death Canon!"

The flash of energy was blinding and Tsubaki braced herself, the pain and heat overwhelming, forcing herself to keep her form together, to keep them all in place, to take every last blow. The burst of light blinded her and the pain finally took her as the light faded into darkness.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, the world was grey and strange. The floor beneath her felt cold, neither liquid nor solid, and the shadows stretching around her were odd and unnatural.

"Am I...dead?" Tsubaki asked the empty air, her voice echoing faintly. She heard the laugh and knew in an instant who it was. It was his old laugh, light and teasing. As she lifted her eyes, she saw him before her, sitting idly atop a spindly mass of shadow.

"No, Little Flower, you aren't dead—not yet—though we probably both should be." He looked so odd to her with his short spiked hair and western clothes, so  _modern_. She supposed her purple tank top and pajama pants covered in stars and moons were little better. What strangers they had become—to each other, to the old ways, to themselves. She was pulled out of her thoughts by his speculative hum.

"Little Tsubaki would give her life for the Shingami, would she? It is fitting, I suppose, for the odorless flower to fade into obscurity for another. Fitting, and yet, your sacrifice will be in vain, I assure you. Perhaps, once your soul is mine, I will even gain the power that should have been mine all along. I would love to find out, wouldn't you?" The grin he offered was sharp and full of dark intent.

"How did you do this?" She asked finally. She knew they were in his soul now, his twisted, evil soul, but did not understand how it had come to this.

"You touched me," Masamune shrugged, "and your friends' attacks gave your meister the chance to expel me. Fortunately," his smile widened, "you were kind enough to be of service, and I took you instead. And now, I will take more." His blade appeared in his hand and Tsubaki brought her own chain scythe into existence, will holding sway in this odd soul space.

"You have already taken everything from both of us, Brother," Tsubaki's voice was even. "I will let you take no more. This ends here."

"Yes," he agreed. "It does." The shadows shot towards her with his words, and she barely avoided them, flipping back and then rushing in a zigzag pattern to finally swing her scythe towards him. He scrambled back, the blade nicking his cheek, the blood running down into his dark jacket. But it wasn't his body that mattered in this place—this was a space of the soul, and she needed to find a way to take him wholly. It was the only way.

Masamune touched his cheek, marveling at the blood. "You've changed, Little Flower, to strike me so. The timid flower rebels, the girl who could not deserve her power, who would show mercy even to a fly. But it is not enough, not nearly—"

"You took my meister— _my meister_! I have no mercy left for you, Brother." Her voice was strong as she launched herself towards him again, her kusarigama striking his other cheek and drawing blood once more. He smiled at her, licking the blood off his fingers slowly as the shadows rose all around them. As suddenly as they appeared, they struck, launching in spikes towards her, into her, through her. And then, her brother was there as she felt the life fading, her body suspended in the air before him, her own blood dripping ominously into the strange, opaque, colorless non-liquid of the floor and lingering there. Tsubaki felt her grip on life slipping, her soul fading.

"You see?" His smile below her was almost soft. "A scentless flower never had a chance against  _me_. With this, I become a god."

"You…" she coughed out blood onto her chin. "...are no god!" In a flash, her short sword form was in her hand and through his heart, and he looked at her in shock and dismay. To her own shock, his form began to fade and he shook his head, his eyes meeting hers. The ghost of a smile returned.

"Turns out you had a scent after all, Little Flower. My mistake. You smell like courage."

An instant later he was gone, and the world shifted. The moon shone above her, soft and yellow, its bloodied grin mocking, or perhaps enjoying, the petty struggles below. It was blocked out after a moment by a blue head of hair. Her meister looked beaten and bruised, but he was awake and alive and Tsubaki said his name softly, her own body a mass of pain and fatigue. She smiled up at him, smiled through her pain and grief because Black*Star was  _alive,_  she had managed to keep them both alive and intact, and that was the ultimate victory since a world without his light would be dark indeed. He truly was a star.

"Baki," he breathed, helping her to sit up. "We thought—for a minute we thought he won." He looked on the verge of tears. "And it was my fault," his voice was hoarse. "My fucking fault."

Her world spun as she sat up, her head swimming. She raised a placating hand, moved it to stroke his bloodied cheek.

"Black*Star," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault. I'm glad you're okay. Is everyone else…?"

"We're fine. Everyone—is fine." This was not Black*Star, but Maka, who had crouched a few feet away, meeting her gaze. "Are you?"

Tsubaki did not answer, but instead sought her own confirmation.

"Masamune is gone."

"Yes. Whatever you did…" Maka shook her head.

"You kicked his ass, Tsu! When you disappeared into the sword, I thought—but then, your body transformed and you were all that was left. We won—no— _you won!_  You saved me, Baki; you saved your god and everyone else. You really are my greatest follower!" His grin was infectious and she smiled weakly at him.

"Yahoooo!"

As her meister shot up to give high fives all around, the other meister stayed.

"You didn't answer my question," Maka said quietly, ignoring the hoots of celebration around them. Tsubaki turned her eyes down and shook her head, willing the tears away. Was she okay? Was she?

"No."

How could she be? Her brother was dead. It was over, completely over. The Shinigami lived and Tsubaki had taken her vengeance; it was all she had wanted over the course of several years, all she had lived for, but now that she had done it, it felt hollow, and the emptiness threatened to overwhelm her. Maka placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and as Tsubaki raised her own eyes to meet those of her companion, she saw a face full of concern, reminding her that she was not alone. She had Maka and Spartoi, people she had come to consider true friends, and she had a meister who meant everything to her.

"But I will be," the Shadow Weapon finished softly. And somehow, she knew that she would, eventually, that she would be just fine. They all would.


	11. Epilogue:  Hope

Sitting in the university stadium on an unseasonably warm winter day, waiting for Soul to return to his seat beside her, waiting for the ceremony to begin, Maka had time to reflect. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, were a whirlwind even still, but she had a feeling things would settle into some sort of normalcy soon and was grateful. Still, it had been a strange month.

Convincing Kid to go with them had been easy after what happened with Masamune; that Asura meant business was suddenly clear to everyone involved, and the Shinigami gave no further protest. They would all go back to Boulder.

Their return to the mountain haven was accompanied by little fanfare. They were debriefed by the Council and asked to remain quiet. The newcomers were sequestered, much as Tsubaki and Black*Star had been before them, and Spartoi was thanked for a job well done and told that they would be given a chance to recuperate. None complained. Though physically, they had recovered on the road, all could use the mental break. They did not see their new friends for over a week, though Spartoi gathered frequently, their bond even stronger since the incident with Masamune. Black*Star and Tsubaki stayed; while Tsubaki admitted that they had originally joined the group only to pursue the Dark Sword, with her brother gone, she was free to live as she wished, and what she wished was to stay in Boulder. Black*Star would stay as well. It seemed he would follow Tsubaki wherever she chose to go.

In some ways, little had changed from the time before they left to find Kid—Spartoi was still a team, they still received missions, and the city was still growing. In other ways, Maka's world had been reborn. Their team would be joined by the young Shinigami and his weapons, who would take the leadership role in order to train and prepare for his future as a true Death God. The Scythe Meister had no objections; she had never relished the responsibility of being in charge. Moreover, spending time with the group from Wisconsin on the road had forged new friendships, and Maka found that she liked the group a good deal. She was more than happy to have them among their number.

The newcomers fit into Spartoi well, falling into an easy camaraderie with the existing group after already having been through so much together. Maka quickly befriended the two Pistols, Liz and Patti. They were loyal, they were strong, they were candid. Sure, Liz could be vain and frivolous and nosy when she had a mind to be, and Patti was rarely serious, but the Scythe Meister liked them all the same, and it was nice to have more girls around to even up the numbers, even more nice that they were people she was beginning to feel like she could trust. She liked Kid as well, though he was strange. He was serious and quiet, intelligent and astute, observant and, when he had a mind to be, quick witted. His oddity centered mostly on his compulsion, and Maka honestly felt sorry for him. The Shinigami seemed to have no control over his obsession with symmetry and order, and she was thankful that Liz had such a calming influence each time he went into one of his many fits, which was far more often than any of them would have liked. Still, it was nice to be around so many people she trusted, and Maka wouldn't have it any other way.

The additions to Spartoi were not all that changed, and the biggest change was really no change at all. After they returned to Boulder, falling into a deeper relationship with Soul had been as easy as breathing. They already shared their lives and their souls, had done so for months. Once both had come to realize that they shared their hearts as well that night in a cold, lonely kitchen in the Wisconsin wilderness, there has been no going back. They shared their first kiss the night they returned, warm and safe and home, and knew that they would someday share even more.

Maka felt a warm hand grasp her own, and was pulled from her reflections.  _His_  hand.

"Took you long enough," she huffed in half-hearted annoyance.

"There was a line." Soul responded.

"Excuses, excuses." He shrugged in response, swooping in to kiss her cheek in an attempt to placate her. It worked, as he had known it would, and she squeezed his hand, unable to keep the smile from her face.

Hand in hand, they watched as the Council took the stage, watched as they announced the finding of a new Shinigami, watched as Kid stood, clearly disliking the scrutiny, yet gazing out to the gathered masses of Boulder, tall and proud and unafraid. Maka smiled up at him, proud as well, of him, of them all.

Some said that they were living at the end of days, the end of the world. Maka used to think so, too, but as she watched their newly minted Shinigami take his place among the Council, her weapon's hand in her own, she knew that they were at the start of something important. Sure, Kid was a fragment still, but just as a sliver of moon will eventually wax full, so, too, would he, and with his rise, a new day would dawn. For the first time in two decades, there was hope, real hope, that the world would not end in everlasting despair, real hope that they could go on to build something enduring and true. In the end, that's all any of them could ask for.

The death of Masamune, the ascension of Kid, it was an ending. And yet, it was only the beginning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There will be a sequel to this, Shinigami Rising. Look for the first chapter to be posted within the next couple of weeks. I hope you enjoyed World Without End-please do leave a review to let me know what you thought.**


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